Blood Stains
by irisbud
Summary: Hermione and Snape have a secret that has absolutly nothing to do with romance and everything to do with Harry. WIP
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a bit revised from the original format, but only for spelling and to combine chapters.  The content is all exactly the same.  If you have read everything I have posted before February 25, skip to the new chapter 8.  If you have read everything I have posted before the beginning of this week, skip to the new chapter 7.

A/N II: I own nothing.  JKR owns all of the characters here except one.  Nothing is mine, but you don't have to feel sorry for me.  I'm used to that condition.

*           *           *

She wondered what they thought of her, as she lay there enshrouded in the blankets and darkness that comprised the entirety of her universe as she settled down for the night.  She could hear the tempo of the breathing from the others, and synchronized hers to match.  She laughed softly to herself that they never saw fit to come and ask her if things were all right, or if she needed any assistance with the homework she insisted on doing until the fires in the Gryffindor common room had faded away to embers.  They thought her bedtime was a reflection of her attitude about homework.  Little did they know that there were worse things in life than not finishing one's homework.  She studied furiously until her eyes would no longer register the words, and then she lay down to rest her weary body, hoping against hope that, for once, sleep would not elude her.  Every night, though, the results were the same.  She was beyond exhaustion, and, yet, there was no sleep.  There was too much to think about, after all, and, though no one would ever believe her, none of the topics she spent her time musing upon had anything to do with homework.

*           *           *

            " 'Mione, you look like you didn't get any sleep at all last night."  Ron Weasley looked at her reprovingly, his eyes taking in the circles which had lately grown darker on her face.  "Maybe you should go see nurse Pompfery.  She might be able to give you a sleeping draught or something."

            Hermione Granger knew her friend was just trying to be helpful, but she also knew that he could never understand, so she smiled weakly, "I was up late working on McGonagall essay.  Have you even started it yet?  It's due in three weeks, you know."

            "Yes, that's why I haven't started it yet."

            Hermione scowled, but it was nothing more than a facade.  There was no reason for anyone to have started such a short assignment yet, and she knew it.  It was just another thing to pass the time, just another thing to hide behind.  

            "Maybe you should take a little break, Herm," Harry chimed in.  "If you're that far ahead, I know you have time to come watch the quidditch practice this afternoon.  It would do you some good to get some fresh air, you know.  You're as pale as a ghost lately.  When's the last time you set foot outside?"

            "When we went to care of magical creatures," she sniffed indignantly.  "I believe that was yesterday."  Harry didn't say anymore.  He knew better than to argue with her when she was in her self-defense mode.

            The three continued onto breakfast, which they chatted amiably over.  After finishing, Hermione dropped her napkin on her plate.  "I'll see you later.  I have to go to the library."

            "But, Hermione," said Harry, "Class starts in fifteen minutes."

            "I know.  I just have to look something up," she called over her shoulder as she dashed away.  She wanted to know how to live again.

*           *           *

            Hermione sprinted along the corridors of Hogwarts, the seconds seeming to slip away from her as the deadline for reaching her class grew nearer and nearer.  She hadn't meant to take so long pouring over _Spells for Troubled Teens_; it had just brightened her to find that others had troubles similar to hers.  Unfortunately, in her haste, she ran straight into Professor Snape.  _Damn_, she thought. _Of all the people to go plowing into._

            Snape looked at her with a slight twinkle in his eye.  "My, my, Miss Granger.  Running in the corridors, were we?  I think fifty points from Gryffindor should be sufficient punishment."  His silky voice brought hot anger to her chest.  She wanted to lash out at him, but held herself in check, knowing that it would do no good.  She stood there fuming as, seconds later, Draco Malfoy raced by.  "Ah, Draco," said Snape.  "Late for class again, are we?  Hurry along now, I wouldn't want Slytherin to lose points because you stopped to watch Granger get punished."  

            Hermione seethed with rage as Malfoy sped off, gloating.  Snape, the head of Slytherin, was known for his lack of justice.  Everyone knew that Draco was his favorite.  She knew enough to turn away and head for Professor Flitwick's class as fast as she could without running.  After all, Snape was still watching.

*           *           *

            For most all of Gryffindor, potions was the least favorite subject.  It wasn't so much the content of the course, but the teacher that made it so deplorable.  Everyone was aware of the special loathing Potions Master Snape held for all Gryffindors.  Making it even worse was the fact that they shared their class times with the Slytherins, for whom Snape was the head of house.  He was, by popular consensus of the students, the only teacher that actually tried to play favorites and be unfair.

            Hermione took her place between Ron and Harry, determined not to further cross Snape today, seeing as he had cost her to lose their house seventy-five points already that day.  She had been late for Charms after his reprimand, and her tardiness had been punished by a loss of twenty-five points.  She looked up to the board, carefully following each of the steps for making the assigned potion.  If they had a different administrator, Hermione felt that this would probably be her favorite class, with being able to work alone and at one's own pace, rather than having to follow along in a book she had already read and notated countless times.  Snape, however, made it unbearable.

            He was standing behind her now, so close she could feel his hot breath.  She wanted to ask him did he mind, but she was well aware that the answer was no, he did not.  He liked to make students squirm and cringe.  It was just one of the many mind games he played.  Because of her friendship with Harry Potter, whom Snape hated with all the bitter passion due a Wizard's vendetta, Hermione was one of his least favorite students, despite the care and time she took to correctly concoct her potions.  She knew he loved nothing more than when something went wrong for her.  She tried to ignore him, but it was difficult.  She could smell the acrid scent of burning potions ingredients upon his robes, and it made her cringe.  She could almost feel the grease he used to slick his black hair back dripping on her, melting from the intense heat radiating from her cauldron.  

            Gritting her teeth, she continued on, muttering incantations, and hoping against hope that Snape would find a new victim.  She knew how unlikely this prospect was from past experience.  Once he had decided to haunt you, you were doomed for the rest of the class period.  At last she was down to the last ingredient.  She carefully measured it out, and was about to pour it into the boiling mixture when she heard a slight tsk-tsking in her ear.  She turned her head slightly towards the sound, and saw Snape grinning evilly at her.  "Are you sure that that is wise, Miss Granger?  Are you absolutely positive that you properly followed all of the steps?  You know how I do loathe accidents," he said silkily.

            Hermione was certain that everything had been done to the letter, so she turned away and ignored him, dumping the lace fly wings into the pot and stirring clockwise seven times, then counter-clockwise three times.  The color and consistency of the potion came out just as it was supposed to.  She poured a small bit into a vial, as was class procedure, put a stopper in it, and turned it in on the front desk.  Snape was still standing at her desk as she returned to clean up her workspace.  He was also still grinning.  "Fifteen points from Gryffindor."

            This time, she couldn't help but be defiant.  "For what?  All I did was make the potion just as you told us to.  I was the first one done, I was returning to clean up my work space, and I haven't said a thing to anyone the entire period, so you can't accuse me of cheating."

            "For not being sure to double check that everything had been done correctly when I warned you that it may not have been.  This time, there was nothing wrong, but your arrogant beliefs that you are always right may lead you to failure or disaster one day.  Next time when I advise you to check your work it would become you to do so.

            "Sir, that's not fair!"  Harry stood up in front of his chair so quickly he nearly spilt the contents of his cauldron, which was only saved by a quick swipe from Dean Thomas.  

            "Manners, Mr. Potter.  Ten points from Gryffindor.   Harry glowered, and sat down.

            Ron opened his mouth as though to say something.  _Silencio_, Hermione muttered under her breath, not wanting to cause any further trouble.  Ron looked foolish, opening his mouth and surprisingly finding that no words came out, but at least he kept them from further peril.  Even so, "Perhaps a detention would affect your behavior, Miss Granger, as the loss of points to your house obviously does not.  Detention at eight PM sharp for the unauthorized use of spells against Mr. Weasley."  She moved to reverse what she had done, but Snape caught her in the act.  "No, no, I'm afraid that undoing the spell is no more legal than performing it was.  Yes, Mr. Weasley will have to remain as he is until all of the effects have worn off.  If I hear his voice at any time during the rest of the hour, I will take a hundred points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger's serious disregard for the rules of this school."  He turned on his heel and stalked towards the front of the room, robes billowing out behind him.

            Hermione sighed as she bent over to clean up what little mess she had made with her work.  It would take a lot more work to clean up the havoc she had wreaked today on Gryffindor.  She risked a menacing glance at Snape, who smiled an odd little half-smile and winked at her.  She gritted her teeth and stared at the tabletop for the next half hour.  She would be seeing enough of Snape tonight.

*           *           *

            There was considerable noise in the Gryffindor common room that evening following dinner.  Most of the conversation was centered around the large hourglass at the back of the room which kept track of the house points.  People were turning towards their neighbors, asking how they could have lost so many points in a single day.  All told, thanks to the merciful, yet small gains of some of the others, they had lost ninety points.  They had been winning the house cup, but were now in third place, and looming dangerously close to last.  Hermione was filled with shame, and tried to avoid the stares of her friends.

            "It's not Hermione's fault," Ron shouted above the din.  "It was Snape that did it.  Everything she did today, he took points way from her.  He made her late for Flitwick's class, and he even gave her a detention.  That slimy git."

            People all through the room nodded in agreement with Ron's assessment of Snape.  They seemed slightly miffed at their great loss, but most understood that when Snape had it in for you there was little, if anything, that you could do to avoid his wrath.  In fact, she received several pats on the back and votes of sympathy.  Most people expressed their great commiseration that she had to also attend a detention with the Professor.  "He's horrible," Ginny Weasley shivered.  "He made me pickle rat brains for six hours last time I had detention with him.  All I did was "breath loudly."  Several others nodded in assent and described the various and unfair punishments they had been forced to endure for minor infractions over the years.

            All told, Hermione was not in great spirits as she slowly trudged down to the dungeon where Snape's office was.  Grudgingly she knocked upon the heavy wooden door.  "Miss Granger, do come in," Snape said, never even opening the door.  She found it creepy that he knew it was her, even though she was scheduled to arrive at this time.  

            "Good evening, Professor," she said softly, hoping to avoid further troubles between herself and the man with extremes of politeness.  

            "You can start by sorting through that pile over there and separating rat livers from frog spleens.  When you've finished with that, I'll give you some real work to do."  He didn't even look up at her as he said this, just stared at some parchment through the greasy sheen of hair that fell over his eyes.

            Sighing, she got to work, doing any number of mindless calculations and counting in her head to avoid staring at the clock, which only seemed to make time pass progressively slower.  Occasionally, she felt as though Snape were staring at her, but when she would risk a glance, he was still engrossed in his papers.  Sometimes, when she felt him stare, she had the strange sensation that someone was sharing her mind and thoughts with her, but she knew that that was ridiculous.  It was just paranoia born of her special loathing for the man behind the desk and the tedious boredom of the task assigned to her in the dark, damp dungeon.

            At last, she had finished.  She cracked her knuckles quietly, and turned around to find Snape right in her face, so close she could feel his breath upon her.  "Ah, finished, are we?" he said as though he had read her mind.  She felt a shiver run down her back, and he smiled slightly.  Suddenly, she felt as though she were being read like an open book.  Desperate, she tried to close off her mind to the onslaught of this attack, but it was to no avail.  She shook her head, eyes and teeth clenched.  It was over as quickly as it had begun.

            "What did you do to me?" she asked, filled with fear over what he might have seen, what he might know.  He said nothing.  For a slight moment, he looked shocked and appalled.  Hermione blinked, and his expression was.  He caught her gaze and just smiled his creepy smile.

            "I think that that is enough for tonight, Miss Granger.  I leave you free to go.  And in the future, do mind your temper.  You can only hide your anger for so long."  With that he swept her into the hall, very alone and very confused.

*           *           *

            "So, how was Snape tonight?"  Ron and Harry had waited up for her in the Gryffindor common room, dozing lightly on the couch in front of the fire.  Hermione appreciated the gesture, but rather wished they had gone on to bed.  Right now, she was so confused she didn't fell like fielding Ron's question

            "As terrible as can be expected.  He had me sort out rat livers and frog spleens.  There was something odd about it though.  He told me that when I was finished, he would give me some real work to do.  But, after I finished, he just let me leave."

            "Very un-Snape-like," said Harry.  

            Ron nodded in assent.  "I thought it was awfully early for you to be getting back.  Look, there's even a fire still."

            Hermione's eyes widened.  As much as she hated detention, she'd have rather been stuck there for another couple of hours than have to face the darkness of her bedchamber.  She couldn't even feign the pretense of doing homework, for she had given away to her friends that morning that she was way ahead of schedule on their assignments.  Fear welled in her stomach and burned at her chest, but she smiled and managed to hide it by sweeping a hand across her brow.  "My, it's rather warm in here, isn't it?"

            Ron looked as her in askance, and Harry shook his head.  "Maybe you ought to go to bed, 'Mione.   I think all of those frog livers have gotten to you."

            "Maybe it was just Snape that got to her."  Ron chuckled at his own joke.  "He's horrible, I tell you.  Being around him is enough to make anyone feel feverish.  Harry's right, Hermione.  You'd best be getting off to bed.  Goodnight."  The boys trudged up to the stairs that led to their dormitory.  

            Hermione stood before the fire, confused for a moment.  Maybe it would be best if she were to try to get some rest.  Tonight she felt weary even deep within her bones.  It was possible that, this time, sleep might overtake her.  Maybe her fatigue could even explain the eerie feelings she had felt down in the dungeons with Snape, she mused somberly to herself as she headed towards her bedroom.  Somehow, she knew it wasn't true, just as she knew that tonight, like every other night, sleep would prove elusive.

*           *           *

            Severus Snape sat staring into his pensive, contemplating the night's events.  For weeks since the start of the school year, he had sensed something was troubling Hermione Granger from the odd way she had taken to regarding him, a mixture of hatred and reproval.  Tonight, through his powers of legulimancy, he knew what it was.  "How could this have happened," he asked himself over and over, pulling more and more memories from his greasy black head.  The more memories he pieced together, however, the more complicated the puzzle became.  At last, he pressed his forehead in his hands and uttered a single word: "why?"

*           *           *

            "Hermione, you look exhausted this morning!"  Ginny Weasley caught up with her friend over breakfast in the Great Hall.  "I've been really worried about you lately.  Parvati says you spend even more time than before studying, and Lavender can't remember the last time you went to bed before three-o'clock in the morning.  What's up?"  

            Hermione contemplated telling Ginny about what she had seen during that terrible summer before in Grimwald place, after Sirius had died.  For a moment, she even opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself.  Now was not the time, and this was not the person she needed to be discussing this with.  She covered herself with a slight smile.  "Nothing, Ginny.  I've just been having some odd dreams lately.  It was a long summer, after all."

            Ginny looked at her oddly, but didn't press any further.  It had been a long summer, as Hermione said.  She herself had seen things she would have rather not.  Still, she wished her friend would open up.  She was wearing the pain for all to see.  The red-haired girl sighed to herself.  When Hermione felt like talking, she would be there for her, and she leaned over and told her friend so.  Hermione smiled her thanks, but Ginny knew it was nothing more than a gesture of politeness.  Whatever this was, it was clear that it didn't involve her, and Hermione wanted to keep it that way.

*           *           *

            After Charms, Hermione had an hour reprieve during which she headed to the library to study _Spells for Troubled Teens _again.  This time, she would write the Effacing Spell down, so she could use it the next time the memory became too much to bear.  Slowly, and with painstaking care, she wrote down the steps and the correct pronunciation for each of the incantations.  Suddenly, she felt a slight tap on her shoulder.  "Professor Dumbledore!"  She practically leapt from her chair, which caused a reproving glance from Madame Pince.  "Hello, Sir.  I didn't expect to see you here."

            "Well, Miss Granger, I didn't expect to find myself here, but fate is a funny thing.  I was wandering along the corridors and suddenly I seemed to just appear here at the table side."  Hermione didn't doubt the veracity of this statement.  Sometimes, it seemed as if the enchantments placed upon Hogwarts, such as that which kept people from apperating of disapperating, didn't apply to Dumbledore.  "May I ask what you're doing?" The elderly headmaster looked at her with a kindly twinkle in his eye.

            "Uh, just a bit of research."  It was true enough, though the research was personal rather than scholarly.

            "Oh, well what a relief.  I was afraid you were planning on using that spell that you've been pouring over so tediously the past few days.  I would hate to see that happen.  It would be very un-Gryffindor of you."

            Hermione looked deep in his eyes and knew that he knew.  "No, Sir.  I wasn't really planning on using it.  Things have just been difficult, after this summer.  I thought that maybe I could erase some of the details, and then my mind wouldn't seem so crowded anymore."         

            The headmaster looked at her knowingly.  "Miss Granger, life doesn't give us more than we can handle.  You were meant to know.  It's up to you what you do with this knowledge.  Might I remind you, however, that it was given to you and you alone.  Choose your path with utmost discretion."

            She turned to ask him what he felt she should do next...but he was already gone.

*           *           *

            "Harry," said Ron as they walked down the damp corridor towards potions, their steps growing longer and slower, "what do you reakon's the matter with Hermione?  She's not herself lately.  I mean, she never was exactly a picture of tranquility, but lately she seems like, I don't know..." Ron's voice trailed off and he shook his head.

            "Like she's about to have a nervous breakdown?"  Harry supplied.  "I know what you mean.   She was always obsessed with homework and deadlines, but anything she did before has nothing on what she does now.  She never has time for anything else anymore.  The other day, I accidentally lit Crookshanks on fire because I did a spell to groom him, he was looking so ill kept.  Luckily, Ginny was there to rescue him.  It's not like Hermione to neglect anything though, especially not that evil cat."

            "I just don't know what could have happened to her."  Ron's eyes were downcast.  "Last summer, we all saw things we'd have rather not, especially you.  We all seemed to be able to deal with it though, except for her.  It's like she saw something she just can't put behind her.  Like there's something she just can't let go, and I'll be damned if I know what it is."

            Harry sighed mightily.  Everything his friend said had been true.  He didn't know what could be troubling Hermione so.  He mumbled his thoughts aloud, "Doubtless we'll find out."

*           *           *

            Snape had taken to prowling the edges of the classroom that day, rather than performing his usual routine of singling out a student, always a Gryffindor, and breathing suggestions of incompetence down their neck.  Harry thought this odd, and pointed it out to Hermione, who merely shrugged.  "At least he's not demoralizing anyone today," she snapped, obviously still wounded from yesterday's encounter with the Potions Master.  Harry turned back to his work, his mind largely on the potion he was supposed to be concocting.  Every few seconds, however, he would risk a glance at Snape, who seemed to be purposefully avoiding looking at him, which was a first.  What's more, he was staring punitively at Hermione.

            Harry nudged Ron in the ribs, and pointed nonchalantly at Hermione, whispering "Snape."  Ron looked at the professor and followed his gaze.  

            "What does he think she's done now?  He's got it in for her lately, hasn't he?"  Ron coughed slightly.  "Hermione, watch yourself, Snape's out to get you."

            Hermione, however seemed not to be paying attention.  She was gritting her teeth as if intensely concentrating.  She and Snape were wearing identical looks as she stared down the potions master.  

            "What's going on," Ron asked Harry.  "What are they doing?"

            "I have no idea," said Harry honestly.  He knew he had seen that look on Snape's face somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it.  He knew that whatever Snape was doing, it was nothing good.  He poked Hermione, but she didn't even flinch.  He wondered why no one else around them was noticing this exchange.

            At last, after what seemed like uncountable minutes, Snape said "Miss Granger, see me after class."  He turned away and billowed into his office.  The Gryffindors mumbled amongst themselves, but didn't seem too put out, as they had lost no further house points.

            "Hermione, what was that about," Harry asked.  "Is everything all right?"

            "I know something I shouldn't, and, somehow, he knows I know.  I felt it last night, like he was reading my mind."  Hermione looked frustrated.  "Just then, I was trying to keep him out of my thoughts.  He tried to sneak in while I was working on the potion, but I felt it.  Maybe I'm losing my mind."

            "You're not," said Harry, realizing where he had seen that stare before.  "He is sort of reading your mind.  That's what he did to me last year when he was supposed to be teaching me occlumency.  It's creepy."

            "I feel so violated," she said.

            Ron leaned over the table.  "What is it that you know that he's not so keen on, 'Mione?  Why would he suddenly decide to read your mind?"

            Hermione looked at her friends with infinite sadness.  "I'm sorry, truly I am, but it's better if you don't know.  Especially you, Harry."

            Harry was about to press the issue when Snape charged up the stairs.  "Class is over Mr. Potter, you and Weasley may leave now, as you weren't invited to stay after class.  If you would like, you can come back tonight and grind down some troll toenails.  Mr. Weasley, I have some spiders which need delegging as well."

            Ron cringed and looked as though he were about to be sick.  Harry glared as menacingly as he could without being insolent.  "That's okay professor, we were just leaving."  As slowly as they could, the two boys headed for the door, hoping to catch a bit of the conversation between Hermione and Snape, but they were unsuccessful.

            Apparently, this secret was not intended for sharing.

            "So," Snape said, pacing a small circle about the room.  "How long have you known?"

            "Since the beginning of the summer."  Hermione was proud and she stood her ground before the Potions Master.  He looked enraged, but she could sense a bit of fear, a hint of weakness.

            "What were you doing up in that room?  We closed it off after it was cleaned.  There was no need for you to be up there reading from the family Tree."  Snape looked murderous.

            "Sir, I was just wanting to catch up on a bit of wizarding history.  I'm muggle-born, you know, so it's hard for me to understand how certain wizards can come to be the way they are.  All you have to do is look at people like the Malfoys to know they're dark wizards, but you could never tell the lineage of someone like Sirius.  I thought it would help The Order if I were to do some research on genealogy.  You never know where an enemy might come from, or what might give someone motive to be an enemy."

            "Foolish girl," Snape spat, "Don't you think that we had already thought of all of those things?  No, of course not, for no one could possibly be as wise as you, or be able to think of the far-reaching ramifications of blood-bonds like you are, isn't that right?  It was better for you to do the work alone, after all.  That way, you wouldn't be forced to share the credit with more mundane minds."

            "No sir!  It wasn't like that at all!  I just wanted to find some things out.  I just wanted to see who was who.  I didn't want recognition or credit.  Sometimes it's just easier to look for yourself than to take someone else's word.  Words can be confused, after all."  Hermione breathed deeply, and screwed her eyes tightly shut, clenching her fists.  She would not let him get to her.

            "Why did you bring that blasted Tree to life?"

            "I didn't mean to!"  It was true that she hadn't meant to, and furthermore, that she now wished she had not.  She had simply been staring at the family Tree tapestry for the Black's, wishing it could somehow tell her the secrets that were hidden beneath the holes which had been blasted through.  Suddenly, there it had stood before her, a magnificent talking Tree that had told her all she had ever wanted to know about the history of pure wizard kind.  More than she had wanted to know, in fact, for now she was consumed by this terrible secret.

            Snape obviously was incredulous and defiantly refused to believe her.  "You asked it to come to life on purpose.  Potter probably told you to, knowing you would be able to do it, and that he wasn't talented enough.  He probably wanted to find out something about his dear, sweet godfather Sirius."

            Hermione exploded with rage.  "Harry had nothing to do with this!  I was alone when that Tree came to life, and no one was around the whole time it reeled on and on through the history of all wizard kind.  If he had been around, do you think he would be able to sit in class and not stare at you?  Do you think he would be able to let it go?  Do you think he wouldn't say anything about your relationship?  He might dislike you, but family is forever."

            Snape looked as though he were going to shake the girl.  "Don't you dare tell him what you know.  It's between you and I and Dumbledore.  You weren't supposed to know.  No one was supposed to know, not even him, until the timing was right, if it ever was.  Anyone else who knew that James was my brother and that I am Harry's uncle is dead."

*           *           *

            Hermione sat outside later that evening, pretending to watch the quidditch practice as she relieved the day she had spent talking with the Black Family Tree.  She had simply wanted information, as she had told Snape.  Sometimes, being muggle born, she felt like an outsider to the wizarding world.  No matter how much she studied in books, she couldn't catch up on some of the little things, the things that the others had known all of their life, like who was bad and who was good and who was born that way and who had switched sides to become what they did.  She had simply wanted to know, and had gotten more than she bargained for.

            To this day, she didn't know how she had made that Tree come to life.  She had tried to do it again, after the initial session she spent with it, not so much because she wanted to, for she didn't, but because she felt that that too was something she had to come to understand.  All her subsequent attempts, however, had been unsuccessful.  She supposed that she must have overlooked something that she had done that day, but she didn't know what it could be, other than that at that point, she had wished for more, and in her later attempts, her wish wasn't backed by any heart.  Still, this hardly seemed laudable to her.  Wishing a thing simply did not make it so.

            She had stood in reverent awe as the Tree had peeled itself from the tapestry, twirling and writhing. She remembered her gasp of shock as the Tree had perfunctorily greeted her, and then had started talking in a voice that was cracked and dry at first, but became deeper and richer as the conversation went on.  She remembered her fear, for the Tree didn't seem completely benign.  Rather, it took on the air of the rest of the Black house; it was evil, and was being held in check by a very fine thread.  

            She had sat on the floor next to the roots, awed by the stories of wizards past and present, of histories she would have never known, and people she would never meet.  At first, the tales were romantic and carried the flavor of her favorite muggle tales about the middle ages.  As they neared the present, however, the narratives began to assume a darker flavor.  Hermione learned that the wizarding world had not started its descent into darkness with the rise of Voldemort.  The Dark Lord was the ultimate symptom, but was not the ailment.  Wizards had been going bad for a long time before his terrible rise to power.

            At last, they had reached familiar territory, surnames that Hermione could recognize for they were a part of her story, the good and the bad.  She recognized the Blacks, The Malfoys, the Goyles, and the Crabbes.  She also found cheer in the Weasleys, Tonks, and the Potters.

            Looking back now, she knew that her motives had been right in stopping the Tree's dictation when it reached Harry's family.  She had asked to know more about the Potters.  She thought maybe she could learn something that she could share with Harry.  Maybe, if the Tree had had an inspiring tale or a humorous anecdote, she would even fetch her friend and ask him to join her.  She knew how much his family meant to him, seeing as he couldn't even remember the people who had died for him.

            The Tree had stopped for a moment, as though thinking what to say, and then continued.  "The Potters are one of the oldest wizarding families.  Due to the lack of males born to the lineage, however, there are but two blood members of the family left.  Only one of these members chooses to be associated with the surname.  The last remaining Potter is The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, who, as an infant, was attacked by the Dark Lord, after the murder of his..."  

            "Yes, yes, I know."  She had said impatiently.  It was not that she had no interest in Harry's story; it was just that she had a primary source if she wanted to hear that tale.  What she was interested in was the identity of the other blood member of the family who yet survived.  She remembered how she had practically squirmed with glee.  Having a family was Harry's greatest wish, and with a little luck, she might be able to help grant him a part of that.  "Who is the estranged member?"

            The Tree coughed slightly.  "Many years ago, twin boys were born to William and Mirabelle Potter.  These were the only two children the couple ever had.  Unfortunately, though the couple loved both of their children, times were difficult, and carrying for the pair of boys was becoming quite a strain.  Mirabelle remembered a woman from the village where she used to work as a seamstress who was unable to have children, even through magical intervention.  She talked the idea over with William, and then went to pay a visit to her old friend Charla.

            "Charla and her husband Theodore were amenable to the idea of adopting one of the Potter boys.  Through teary eyes, Mirabelle and William were forced to decide which of their sons, James or Severus, they would part with.  In the end, they chose Severus, for he seemed to bond with the Snape family better.  The Potter family then continued on merrily.  Though they still kept in contact with Severus, they were careful to keep things on a social level only, so as not to cause any undue pain to the boys.

            "Things became a tad more difficult as James and Severus reached school age, and were both admitted to Hogwarts.  The Potters wrote the headmaster Albus Dumbledore, telling him of the relationship between the two boys in confidence.  He knew that no one, least of all James and Severus, was ever to know.

            "Well, as it usually does, time marched forward.  In an interesting twist of fate, it came to be that the brothers actually hated each other.  Severus was jealous of James, for the former was a bit of a bumbler in his youth, and James came by his many talents with natural grace and ease, which made him a tad arrogant.  James saw in Severus a good deal of himself, though he didn't know why, and, like most people, wasn't happy with the reflection.  It seemed unlikely the two would ever find out they were brothers, for they stayed well apart, each moving in their own circles.

            "It was in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts that fate took and interesting twist.  James had earlier saved Severus from certain death at the hands of a werewolf by the name of Remus Lupin.  Though Severus would have never done so without prompting, it was time for him to return the favor.

            "During quidditch practice one day, James, being the seeker and a bit of a show-off did a dive parallel to one of the castle walls in an attempt to impress his future wife, Lily.  He failed to see a small area where the wall jutted forth and crashed headfirst into it.  The nurse and the headmaster were fetched at once.  It seemed, upon their arrival, that there was little that could be done for James, his injuries were so severe.

            "The nurse than mentioned to the headmaster that the only spell she knew of that would work required a family member performing the incantation with a healer simultaneously.  Dumbledore hurriedly had James whisked to the infirmary, and called for Severus Snape.  Dumbledore performed the spell with Severus, and the secret was kept safe from the public, but not from the boys, for Dumbledore felt that if Severus knew, it was only right that James should too.

            "If anything, the two boys harbored even more hatred for each other after that.  Severus was even more jealous of James, for his biological family had chosen to keep him, while disposing of Severus.  James had always loathed the boy, and was not keen on the idea of having him for a brother.  The two went their separate ways after graduation, maintaining the facade that they knew nothing of their blood relations.  James never even told Lily.

            "To this day, Severus Snape remains estranged from the sole remaining Potter, James's only son, Harry, and chooses not to use his given surname."

            Hermione remembered her shock, and the way she had nearly crumpled to the floor, thinking that it was not, could not be, true, but all the while knowing that it was.  She had decided then and there to keep the secret from Harry, whom she only felt would hate Snape more if her knew the truth.  Besides, she had reasoned with herself then, as she did now sitting in the quidditch stands, if Dumbledore felt it right for Harry to know, he would have told him.  It really wasn't her place, after all.

            "Good practice, Harry," she said as he walked up beside her, startling her slightly.  In truth, she hadn't seen any of it.  "You too, Ron and Ginny."

            "Is she blind," Ron whispered to Harry, "Or does she think that I'm supposed to let all of the goals through, Ginny is supposed to fall off her broom and have to have her bones repaired, and the snitch is supposed to break your glasses?"

            Hermione quickened her pace, trying to keep them from seeing her red face.  She had missed all of those events, and was thankful that she had.

            "Well," said Harry, "Hermione might know a lot of things that no one else on the grounds does, but quidditch isn't exactly her specialty, unless you want an exact definition or the proper spelling."  The three teammates chortled with glee, and Hermione pretended to be hurt by their good-natured ribbing.

            As Hermione listened to the others babble on and on about quidditch ad nauseum, she reaffirmed her decision to keep her secret.  After all, Harry was in such a good mood lately, there was absolutely no need to spoil it with the news that having lived with Uncle Vernon, he had actually been living with the good uncle.


	2. Chapter 2

"You wanted to see me Headmaster?"  Severus Snape stood in the doorway to Albus Dumbledore's office, looking slightly put out for having had to walk all the way from his dungeon to the upper floors of the castle.  

            "Yes, Severus.  Do come in."  Snape stepped forward, and Dumbledore motioned for him to sit down in the chair across from his own.  "Tea?"

            "No."  Snape sat in stony silence, staring at the headmaster in melancholy.  Socializing had never been his forte.  Dumbledore could not help but marvel at the difference between Severus and James every time he looked upon the greasy Potions Master.  James had been so likable, and though Dumbledore enjoyed the company of Snape, he knew there were many others who found him too intense to bear.

            "It has come to my attention, Severus, that certain information has escaped the confinement it was supposed to eternally enjoy."  Dumbledore smiled across the table and cocked his head slightly, waiting to hear the potentially volatile reaction he was certain Snape had spent considerable time preparing.

            "Yes, sir.  The Granger girl was meddling in affairs as usual and got her nose somewhere that it did not belong, as you well know.  I suggest that we perform a simple spell to erase her memory, and then there won't be any danger of the world finding out my relation to the Potter boy."  Snape practically spat the last two words as though they were vile poison.

            "Come now, you know that Hermione will not be indiscreet about spreading such information about, for she thinks that such knowledge would be detrimental to Harry."

            "All the same, sir, I would feel better knowing that the secret was once again safe.  Can you imagine the problems it would cause were The Dark Lord to find out about my blood bonds to Harry Potter?  It could seriously affect the work I have been doing for the Order."  Snape looked disgusted and annoyed.

            "Severus, I am sorry, but I feel that the secret _is _safe.  I will not permit any memory-altering charms to be used on Hermione Granger.  She considered doing such a thing just recently, and I would not allow it, nor will I allow you to perform the magic.  Sometimes things happen for reasons we do not see, and we must learn to live with the consequences until we can find meaning in the reasons.  I expect you to live by my wishes."  Dumbledore smiled benignly, his eyes twinkling.  "Ah, I am afraid I have detained you far longer than I expected to.  You may go now."

            Snape stood up in disgust, knowing that his audience was over and that he was even further from ridding himself of his problem than he had been before.  He did not quite know what to do.  All he knew was that it was a situation that could not be tolerated.

*           *           *

            "Hermione, aren't you going to Hogsmeade with everyone else?"  Ginny Weasley stepped up behind the brown-haired girl and tapped her on the shoulder.  "Come on, put those books down and grab your cloak.  It won't hurt you to stop studying for a bit and get some fresh air.  I'm sure you're way ahead of everyone else anyway."  She smiled brightly.  "Mum's just sent me some money for my birthday, and I need to get a new quill.  Come with me and we'll have a butterbeer afterwards."

            Hermione sighed and drug her books up the stairs to her room, grabbing her cloak.  She was way ahead on her studying, and the idea of spending a day outside of the castle did have some appeal.  Snape had been practically haunting her lately, chasing her down the corridors and penalizing her for so many indiscretions the Professor McGonagall, who rarely stepped in on behalf of a student had given the Potions Master a lecture about harassment and warned him to confine his punishments to real offenses that deserved correction.  Hermione almost giggled at the thought of running into Snape in the Three Broomsticks.  She was certain that as long as they steered clear of the Hog's Head they would be safe.  "Ready," she said cheerily as she descended the stairs.

            "Well, well," said Ron.  "Looks who's decided to take her nose out of a book for what I think must be the first time this year and join us."  He grinned slightly.  "I didn't think you'd be coming Hermione.  You might have some homework for next year you haven't finished yet you know."

            She chose to ignore him as they walked through the great hall and out the front doors, crossing the front lawn to reach the carriages.  It was a lovely day out; unseasonably warm, and the lake glittered with the morning sunshine.  The giant squid was lazily doing laps to the delight of some first years.  

            When they arrived at the village, Ginny and Hermione headed off to the quill shop while Ron and Harry made their way to Zonko's, the four of them agreeing to meet up and hour later in the Three Broomsticks.  Ginny was indecisive over which quill to select, and Hermione began to grow bored and started browsing through the shelves littered with parchment and inkwells.  She marveled at the many inks and papers which had been created with the cheater in mind.  She lifted a sheaf of self-neatening parchment to read the description on the back when a small gold glimmer beneath where the package had been laying caught her eye.  There lay a thin red leather-bound book entitled "A Wizard's Guide to Writing with the Spirit".  Intrigued by the many quotations and helpful suggestions, she purchased the book at the front counter while Ginny paid for a quill that automatically corrected your spelling and grammar.

            "What's in the bag, Hermione?" Ginny asked as they made their way to the pub.  

            "While I was waiting for you, I started looking at all of the different parchments in there.  I picked a package up to read the description on the back, and there was this little book under there called "A Wizard's Guide to Writing with the Spirit".  I started leafing through it, and it seemed like it could give me hints on adding a more interesting personal angle on some of my homework assignments, so I bought it," she said earnestly.

            "Hermione, do you ever think that maybe you try too hard?" Ginny asked her with a concerned smile.

            "No." Hermione replied without a trace of humor.

            The two girls reached the door to the Three Broomsticks and struggled through the crowd to find a table for four, as Ron and Harry had yet to arrive.  They sat down and ordered a round of butterbeer, talking amiably about classmates, friends and enemies.  Hermione enjoyed spending time alone with Ginny occasionally.  It was nice to share a little girl talk and not have to focus on quidditch for a while.

            She heard the chair beside her move, and she smiled and turned her head to greet her friends.  Who she saw instead quickly soured her expression.  "Hello, Malfoy."

            "Hey Granger.  Weasel Queen."  Ginny made a face and gestured rudely with her hands at Malfoy.  Their group of friends had an ongoing feud with Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins, and it seemed there was no end in sight.  "Just dropping by to check up on you."

            "Why?" asked Ginny.  "Just leave us alone.  We don't want trouble, Draco.  Unless you have something important to say, get away."  Her eyes were cold as ice.  Ginny Weasley was sweet and kind, but, after growing up with six brothers, she was as hard as nails when provoked.

            "What are you doing over here, Malfoy?"  Harry walked up behind the blond boy.  

            "Is he bothering you?"  Ron asked the girls, "Or is it just me?"

            "Manners Potty, Weasel King.  I'm just doing my duty."  He sighed mightily.  "I'm afraid that while everyone else gets to enjoy a little respite from the rigors of school I am being forced to spend my day of leisure working."

            "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"  Ron's face was as red as his hair.  "You know that prefects are allowed to relax here just as much as anyone.  Or have you forgotten that Hermione and I are prefects to?  You can't gain a sympathy vote from us like you might be able to from your little Slytherin friends.  We know the truth."

            Malfoy smiled maliciously.  "Do you, Weasley?  You see, I'm not acting as a prefect today; I'm just here to see what it is you're talking about.  I've been told to monitor your conversations and report back to my "employer"."  His eyes glinted wickedly.

            "Yeah, right.  Like anyone would care about anything we have to say.  Get over yourself, Malfoy."  Harry pulled the chair Draco was occupying away from the table.  "Now if you'll excuse me, you're in my seat."  He moved as though to sit, but Malfoy remained where he was, leaving Harry in a bit of an awkward position from which he recovered as smoothly as possible.  "I said get up."

            "No, Potty.  You see, I'm afraid that won't be possible.  Professor Snape asked me to hang around, you see, and as a prefect, I can't disobey my head of house."

*           *           *

            "I can't believe Snape is going around monitoring everything we're saying?  What is it with him anyway?  He's been acting paranoid all term.  First he constantly harasses Hermione, then he send Draco to make sure we're not saying whatever it is he doesn't want us to say.  And to top it all off, he actually just ignores Harry now.  It's almost as though he doesn't exist when we're in class.  I'm sure you don't mind mate, but it's a bit odd, don't you think?"  Ron was fuming as they made their way up to Gryffindor tower, their afternoon in the village having been cut short by Malfoy's appearance.  They had left the pub shortly after he had made his announcement, but he had proceeded to follow them everywhere they went until they decided the best course of action would be simply to return to their common room, where he defiantly was neither allowed nor welcome.

            "I just don't get it." Harry mused.  "Why Malfoy?  If Snape's worried we might be discussing the Order, I would think that that git would be the last person he would send to ensure it's security.  His dad's a Deatheater, after all."

            "I still think you should go tell McGonagall, Hermione," said Ginny.  "She told Snape not to harass you anymore, and this definitely qualifies as harassment.

            "No," said Hermione.  "We don't even know for sure that Snape actually sent him.  Draco might have just been making it up to make us paranoid.  Besides, I can't go running to McGonagall every time Snape bothers me.  After a while, she just wouldn't care anymore."  Hermione alone knew, or at least had a strong suspicion why Snape had sent Malfoy spying.  She assumed he hadn't really expected him to spy at all, merely to deter her from exposing the fact that he was Harry's uncle.  She smiled wanly at her friends.  "Look, if he does it again, the first thing I'll do is run and fetch McGonagall.  Like I said, Malfoy might just be trying to play a trick on all of us.  Maybe his father wanted to see if we had something we were worried about people like Malfoy overhearing."

            The other three murmured in assent, and Hermione knew that, this time, she had been saved.  Inside she shuddered slightly.  She wondered if she would be strong enough to maintain the charade much longer.

*           *           *

            Professor Snape was up late working in his office when he heard a knock on his door.  "Come in," he said, somewhat surprised, for the hour was late, and he rarely entertained visitors down in the dungeons.  Usually, everyone complained of rheumatism and made him journey to them.

            The door swung open with a loud squeal from the rusty hinges, and Hermione Granger stepped through the threshold, holding a length of silvery material in her hand.  "Why, Ms. Granger," said Snape neutrally, "I didn't know that you had taken up Potter's habits of roaming the hallways freely disguised by that cloak.  I think you should turn it over to me, and then make your way back to your dormitory."  He reached his hand out for the invisibility cloak, but she held it protectively to her chest as if to say "MINE".

            "Very well, then," said Snape.  "Keep the cloak and be going.  I don't have time for petty interruptions right now."  He turned his face back to the desk, staring blankly at the parchment below.  Mentally, he chided himself.  He was losing a bit of his edge, it seemed.  Right now, he really didn't even care about punishing her.  "Must be getting old," he muttered to himself.  He looked up a moment later, now growing angry.  "What are you still doing here?  I ordered you to get out of my sight.  Next time, I won't be so kind.  I don't care what McGonagall told me about leaving you be, I'm sure it wouldn't apply when you are up roaming out of your bed."  He glared nastily at her, wiping his greasy bangs back from his eyes.  "Now leave at once!"

            "No."  Hermione's voice was as cold as steel, and her eyes were as hard.  "I want to talk to you about what happened in Hogsmeade this morning.  Why did you send Draco Malfoy to follow me?"  

            Snape sighed.  "I though that you would understand by now that the world can't be let in on the little secret we are sharing now.  I knew Draco would be the greatest deterrent for you, and I also knew that you would be able to use any number of excuses to explain his presence that day.  I don't trust you. Dumbledore might think that you valiant, loyal and intrepid, but I am not so keen you and the rest of Potter's little band of troublemakers."  

            Hermione moved closer to the desk, her steps halting and tenuous.  When she reached the side, she leaned across and stared Snape in the eye.  "Professor, please.  I swear I will never tell Harry or anyone else what I know.  I think it would hurt him more than I could ever imagine. I know the ramifications would reach beyond his feelings as well.  You could lose everything.  The Order could lose everything. I feel that the price for my telling would be more than I could bear."

            Snape looked up and for a moment felt a twinge of something fleeting that disappeared as quickly as it had come.  For the moment, however, he was a bit more disposed towards humanity.  "Fine.  No more having Draco follow you around under the pretense that you've been casting memory enhancing charms on students to help them with their exams.  I'll tell him that you have been dealt with firmly, which should please his father, and that will be the end.  Are you satisfied?"

            Hermione could have easily said yes, but she was proud and she stood her ground.  "No.  Tell me you believe me."

            "Don't talk back to me, Ms. Granger, or you will find yourself in a much more sorry position than the one you presently hold, that I can assure you of."

            She leaned closer so that he could feel her breath upon his face.  She spoke lucidly and with such enhanced enunciation it was as though she were speaking to a child.  "Tell. Me. You. Believe. Me."

            "Get out, Ms. Granger, or the consequences will be serious." He stared at her stonily.  "No, I am not playing, and I do not trust you enough to believe you.  Now leave."  He stood up and grabbed her arm with a bit more force than was necessary, aiming her towards the door.  Hastily, she pulled Harry's invisibility cloak over her.  Snape considered confiscating it, but decided against the action.  Though he would have loved to see her pay for her lack of respect, he knew questions would be raised regarding just why she was visiting his office under cover of invisibility in the dead of night, and those were questions he wasn't ready to answer.

*           *           *

            "What are you reading now?" Ron Weasley asked Hermione Granger as he peered over her shoulder at the text she had purchased from the quill and stationary shop in Hogsmeade.  

            "I picked this up because I thought it would help me with my writing, but so far I haven't found an interesting thing in it."  She sighed and closed the red leather book.  "Why?"

            "I was just wondering if you wanted to take a walk with me and try and catch some rule-breakers.  We've been neglecting our prefect duties lately, you know."  Ron raised his red eyebrows at her and smiled slightly.  "What do you say?"

            She narrowed her eyes slightly.  "I say that you always neglected your prefect duties, and never before cared a bit that you did."  

            "Back then, though, I had you to pick up the slack.  You've left me in a bit of a bind, Hermione.  Being a Prefect's a lot more work when you're not doing it all."

            Hermione sighed loudly.  "Fine, Ron, we'll go for a walk.  But it has to be a short one.  I wouldn't want Snape catching me running amok on the grounds late at night in the mood he's been in lately.

            "That's the spirit.  Come on, we can bring Harry and his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's map."  He turned to the other side of the room, "Oy, Harry, come on mate."

            Harry looked skeptical, but excused himself from the conversation he had been having with Ginny and walked over to his two best friends.  "What's going on?"

            "We're planning a little walk.  Are you up for it?"

            Harry grinned and raced up the stairs to fetch his mischief making accessories.  Hermione wasn't at all inclined to go along with this, but she didn't want the others to think she had completely lost her spirit so she smiled unenthusiastically hoping they wouldn't notice her lackluster attitude.

"See you in a bit, Ginny," said Harry as they headed for the portrait.

            "How come I never get to go along," the red head sulked.

            "Because you're not a prefect," Ron suggested.

            Ginny wasn't impressed.  "Neither is Harry."

            Ron sighed.  "Because you're not old enough then.  Go on, leave us alone."

            The three crawled through the portrait hole, Harry covering himself quickly with the invisibility cloak as they stepped into the dimly lit hallway.  Hermione wondered if Harry had noticed the brief absence of the garment, but decided he hadn't, for she was confident that he would have attributed its disappearance to something sinister.  Their footsteps always seemed to echo when they were surrounded by the silence of night in the castle.  "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Ron recited as he tapped the map with the tip of his wand.

            "I wish you wouldn't do that," said Harry.

            Ron looked over at the empty spot where his friend's voice had come from.  "Do what?  You gave me the map to use."

            "Yes, but I'd rather you let Hermione activate it.  One of these days you'll light it on fire or something."  Ron scowled but said no more, knowing the ribbing was good-natured.  Besides, he couldn't help it if his ward were once again bound together with spellotape.

            "Looks like no one's out and about tonight," said Ron his tone disappointed and his face looking rather crestfallen.  "Don't you know how much I would love to catch Malfoy doing something he shouldn't be after all those choruses of 'Weasley is our King' last year?" He sighed tiredly.  "I would just love to get him in trouble for something.  He's always slipping out of punishment just because his father his money.  It just isn't fair.  My father would have money to if he were as wicked as the Malfoys."

            "I'd like to get Malfoy too, Ron.  Maybe someday we'll get a chance." 

            "Harry, I hate when you wear that thing," Ron shook his head.  "It still gives me the creeps.  It makes me feel like I'm talking to thin air."  Suddenly, he jerked to a halt.  "Hush, mate.  Snape alert."

            The Potions Master was heading in the direction of the three students, looking disgruntled.  "What are you doing roaming the halls Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger?"  He looked around as though trying to find something, and began randomly jerking his arms, which Harry narrowly avoided, backing into a wall as far as he could go.  "And where is Potter?  I know he's here somewhere under that blasted cloak of his.  He couldn't bear to be left out of anything."  Snape's lip curled.  "So arrogant, just like his father.  So wanting for undeserved attention.  Everything always had to be about James, just as it always must concern Harry."

            Hermione cringed, knowing that Snape was baiting Harry to show his face by degrading his father.  She hoped that her friend wouldn't fall for it, but she knew better than to believe he would be satisfied to remain silent.  Sure enough, "How dare you speak about my father that way!  You're just jealous that he was a great man and you're not.  You didn't even know him, anyway.  He was just someone you went to school with, and you didn't happen to get along.  Come off it for once, will you?"

            Hermione winced.  Ron turned away.  Snape fumed.  "How dare you speak to me in that tone, Potter.  I knew your father better than you ever did, and I know what he really was.  I don't feel the need to glamorize him just because he's dead, or just because he's the father of the oh-so-wonderful boy who lived.  I would love it if everyone else would just forget about the miraculous role you played in the defeat of the Dark Lord.  You did nothing.  You were merely a baby who had the right _mother_ and was in the right place at the right time. It would make me ever so happy if, for just once, Professor Dumbledore did not see fit to let you run about the school doing as you wish at all times.  Fifty points from Gryffindor for being in the hallway after curfew unauthorized."

            Harry growled low and animalistic ally in his throat, but said no more, knowing his words would never bring reason and would only result in further punishment.  He didn't wonder that his father and Snape had been bitter enemies.  The picture he carried of his father was as vast a contrast of Snape as he could possibly create.  

            Despite Harry's subdued nature, Snape was not through dispensing reprimands.  "As for you, Weasley, I will deduct 20 points for allowing Mr. Potter to roam the halls freely.  As a prefect, it is your duty to patrol the corridors at this hour and send stragglers of to their beds.  You, I see, are not performing that happy duty.  Rather, you have actually accommodated Potter in accomplishing another of his various forays into rule bending.  Might I also warn you three, nothing can bend forever without breaking."

            Hermione glared at Snape, as though daring him to heap more punishment upon them.  Suddenly, she felt the familiar waves of Snape's mind rushing over her, trying to force from her the memories she esteemed as private and dear.  She remembered kissing Victor Krum beside the lake after the Tri Wizard Tournament.  Then there was Sirius, falling through the curtain to his death, and that blasted Tree, reciting its story once again.  She fought his onslaught with a sudden wave of strength.  "Get out," she practically shouted, and he stumbled backwards a bit, their connection broken.

            "Go back to Gryffindor tower at once," Snape bellowed, herding them in that direction, "Or Professor McGonagall shall hear about this."

            The three, knowing what was good for them, scurried off, not stopping until they breathlessly crawled back through the fat Lady's Portrait.  "What was that about Hermione?" asked Ron.

            "He was doing it again, wasn't he?"  Harry inquired, looking at her quizzically.  "What does he want from you, Hermione?"

            "I don't know," she said weakly, heading up the stairs to her bedroom.

            Ron glared at her retreating figure.  "She's lying," he said.

            Suddenly, a voice rang out from the squashy couch in front of the fire.  "Of course she's lying," said Ginny.  "But why?"

*           *           *

            Hermione tossed and turned all night long, what little sleep she managed to get filled with dreams of Snape as Harry's uncle, trying to protect him from Voldemort.  She sat up with a start, breathing deeply and covered in sweat as the others around her slept soundly on.  Slowly, she crept out of bed and made her way downstairs to the fire.  She had left her new book down there, and she felt that reading it might be just what she needed to coax her mind into sleep.  Her hand clasped around the volume, and to her surprise, she found it was warm, as though she had just set it down on one of the common room tables.  She stretched out on a soft couch, covering herself with a throw, and settled down to read.

            It felt as though the world were twirling around her as she turned the pages.  Suddenly, she found herself in a dark and lonely room.  "Hello," she called out timidly.  She thought she was dreaming but at the same time, fear gnawed at the pit of her stomach, for the scene before her had none of the ephemeral qualities of a dream.  Somehow, she knew that whatever this was it was real.

            Suddenly a man popped up before her.  He looked perfectly human, perfectly normal.  "Who are you?" she asked, mildly frightened.

            "I am the spirit," he said simply, and shrugged.  "You asked for me."

            "How?"

            He pointed to the red leather book which she still held in her hands.  "A Wizard's Guide to Writing with _the Spirit_."  He held his hands up like balance scales.  "I guess you can see how it all works."  He cleared his throat before continuing.  "So, who is it you want to get in contact with?"

            "What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, now totally perplexed.

            He rolled his eyes.  "This happens to me all of the time.  Let me guess, you picked up the book because you thought it would show you how to bare your soul when you were writing, which would give your papers a much more exciting and readable angle."  She nodded, dumbstruck, and he continued.  "Little did you know that you were picking up something more, so much more than that.  I can help you communicate to those beyond."

            Hermione said nothing, just stared blankly.  The spirit looked somewhat deflated.  "Come on, don't you have anyone who's gone beyond that you'd like to talk with again?"

            "Not really," she answered earnestly.  "A friend of mine does though.  Maybe it would be better if I were to give this to…"

            The spirit cut her off.  "How noble, but, alas, it just can't work like that.  You see The Guide has its own agenda.  It knows where it belongs when, and to whom it should belong to when it is there.  Right now the guide was meant for you.  If anyone else tries to use it, or if you try to in the presence of anyone else, all that will appear is a boring old moldering book."  He raised one eyebrow and shrugged.  "No, I don't know why you were chosen, but such is fate."

            "Okay, then" said Hermione, "how does it work?"

            "The book will remain in your possession for the specified amount of time, after which you will spontaneously lose and never again find it.  While you have the book, you can tap it with your wand or simply begin reading it, and you will find yourself here, with me.  I will give you some parchment and a quill, like so," he produced an ivory sheet of parchment and a lovely electric-blue quill, "And then you can proceed to write a letter to one who had gone beyond.  I will deliver you letter, no peeking of course, and will return the following day with a response.  If you fail to call upon me, you will have to re-write your letter, for I have a dreadful memory for the things people say.  Any questions?"

            Hermione had a million questions, but none that she felt like asking, or that were really relevant to the process, so she simply shook her head.  "Splendid, the spirit said.  You may begin."

            She spent a considerable amount of time staring at the paper before her, deciding just what to write, and whom she should write it to.  At last, an idea struck her and she touched her quill to the paper.  

            _"Dear Mr. James Potter…"_

*           *           *

Hermione was jittery the next day.  She kept looking over her shoulder, clutching the little red book in her hands.  She walked as though she had no clear idea of where to go, one moment heading in on direction, the next doing an about-face and heading in the other.  In class, she jumped at small noises, and she became so ill with nerves that she was unable to attend potions.

" Weasley, where is Ms. Granger?"  Snape hissed in Ron's ear, his eyes cold and harsh.

"She took ill, Sir.  McGonagall sent her to Madam Pompfery last period because she turned white and started sweating like mad."

            "Ha.  A likely story."  Snape spun on his heel and marched away.

            "What is going on between the two of them?"  Ron turned and stared at Harry, who was speaking rather loudly.  "Something is defiantly up, but I can't quite figure out what it is."

            "I know, mate," said Ron, "but maybe its best if we just leave them be and let them work it out for themselves, whatever it is."

            "Ron, Hermione could be in trouble!  We have to find out what it is Snape wants from her, and what lengths he's going to go to get it!  I can't sit back and watch anymore, I have to do something."

            "Typical," said a sneering voice behind them.

            "But out, Malfoy," Ron snapped.  "This conversation isn't any of your business."

            "No?"  Malfoy grinned leeringly.  "Well, perhaps it would be Professor Snape's business then.  After all, you are talking about him.  Maybe I should just call him over here…"

            "Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry menacingly.  "Don't talk to me again until you have something to say that's worth listening to."

            "I might not have anything to say that you want to listen to, but it sounds like Granger does.  What's the matter, Potty?  Don't like being left out of something?  You don't like it when you can't play the hero, or when some part of someone's life might not have anything to do with you?"

            "Shut up Malfoy!  I'm warning you…"

            "Mr. Potter, I did not authorize you to dispense warnings in my class.  Now kindly hold your tongue.  Mr. Malfoy, don't let Potter distract you."  Snape smirked evilly and then walked away to the front of the classroom.

            "He's a git, that one," said Ron. 

            "Yeah," said Harry, "And Malfoy's just like him."  He knew Malfoy was still listening, but he didn't care.  He sighed heavily, and tried to return to his work, but he was finding it hard to concentrate.

            "Harry, cheer up mate, you're not like that.  Malfoy's just trying to get to you.  You need to let it go."  Ron smiled at him.  "Come on, mate.  Do your work or you'll have to spend all of Saturday with Snape in potions study."

            Harry smiled thankfully at Ron and turned back to his cleaning potion.  He and Snape had been careful to avoid each other lately, it seemed.  He wasn't ready to upset the balance if he didn't have to.

*           *           *

            Hermione sat in her deserted bedroom, confident that she would be alone for at least another two hour while the rest of her roommates were in Potions class.  She opened the red leather book with trepidation, her breath short and catching in her chest.  For a moment, nothing happened.  Then she felt the familiar woozy sensation.  "Hello?"  she called out, still timid but with a bit more assurance than she had had the last time she had found herself in this room.  "Spirit, are you there?"

            Seconds later, the spirit arrived, clad in black wizarding robes this time instead of the muggle gear he had been sporting during his previous appearance.  "Ah, Hermione.  I knew you would be calling just now.  How are you doing today?"

            Hermione wanted to wave his question away and get to the important part, the reply from Harry's father, "Fine.  What did Mr. Potter say."

            The spirit shook his head as though forlorn.  "They never want to actually talk with me," he muttered largely to himself.  "All they want to do is use me to get at someone else.  I do them a favor, and they can't even extend common courtesy to me."

            "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

            "No, no, my dear girl.  Don't worry about it.  I'm used to it by now."  He smiled with considerable warmth, and Hermione found herself drawn to him as though she had known him her whole life.  "Now, about James's reply."  He handed her a glowing envelope with the words _Ms. Hermione Granger_ written on the outside in maroon ink.  "He was grateful for your letter by the way.  So proud of Harry, that one."

            Hermione made to put the letter in her robes, but the spirit stopped her.  "Ah, a minor detail.   You see, that letter is sort of on loan.  You have to read t here, and then give it back."

            "But, I wanted to give it to Harry."

            "Yes.  Well, that's all very good, but I'm afraid that that won't be possible.  You see, there are two separate worlds, the world you live in, and the one in which those who have already left your world dwell.  We can't go about taking things from one world and putting them in the other.  It's only in special places such as this one that the two worlds can converge.  Even here, they're not really converging.  It's just that pieces of them can come together.  If you take that letter to your world, it will simply disappear because it doesn't belong there."  He paused for a breath, letting the implications sink in.  "Now, be a good girl and go sit over there and read your letter.  Tell me if you'd like to write another when you've finished."  He turned his back, staring into a handheld mirror and speaking in a language Hermione could not make out.

She walked slowly over to a corner that was as far from him as she could get.  Slowly, she tore through the envelope's seal, her fingers shaking slightly.  She pulled a single sheet of paper out, and carefully unfolded it. For uncountable minutes, she stared at the paper before beginning to read.  After finishing, she re-read it, deliberately pressing herself to memorize all of the important details it contained.  Finally, she re-folded the letter along the original creases and placed it back in the envelope.  She cleared her throat softly, waiting for the spirit to turn around.

"Ah, finished I see.  Would you like to write another?"  He smiled kindly at her.

"No, thank you.  I'll just, just stick with this one for now, I guess."  Her voice was wavering slightly, and she found herself having trouble putting the words together.

"It's always difficult the first time, dear," the spirit said.  "You'll find it gets easier as you go along."  He winked at her, placed the letter inside his lapel, and tapped his hand mirror with a finger.

Suddenly, Hermione found herself back in Gryffindor tower.  The clock on her bedside table indicated that the other girls would be returning any moment now.  She drew the curtains shut around her bed just before she heard the door creak open.  "Hermione?"  Parvati's inquiring voice called out in a loud whisper.  

Hermione couldn't find the strength to answer.  She closed her eyes, feigning sleep in case one of her chamber mates should pull backs the drapes.  She sat silently, hardly daring to breathe.  At last, she heard Parvati's footsteps retreat from the room, the door softly thudding shut behind her.  Only then did Hermione release a loud "Whew.." 

*           *           *

            Hermione tried to concentrate on her school work the next day, but she kept stealing glances at Harry, distracted by the mere sight of him.  After reading the letter from his father the evening before, she had felt so emotionally drained that she had actually been able to sleep the full night through for the first time since the beginning of the term.  She felt guilty now as she sat between her two best friends in transfiguration.  It was bad enough to be forced to keep the secret about Snape from Harry.  Worse still was not being able to tell him about contacting his father.

            She had read the letter thoroughly and carefully, and the message in it was clear.  James Potter had never intended to tell Harry of his relationship with Severus Snape, and he wished for Hermione to comply with his wishes.  He felt that the knowledge would only bring pain, hurt and suffering as it had for both him and Severus.  She wished she could tell Harry about the rest of the letter James had written, about the pride he felt for Harry and the hopes he held for his future.  She wanted to be able to tell her friend that he had never been alone, even through all of those dark days in the Dursley household.  James had indeed been constantly watching over him.

            She knew better than this, however.  No matter how she phrased the conversation with Harry in her mind, it inevitably led to more questions from him, questions which always led to his discovery of the blood bonds he shared with Snape.  She couldn't let that happen.  She couldn't share the good with Harry without divulging the bad, and she felt it more important to be discreet about Snape than it was to be open about James.  In either case, Harry was happy enough not knowing.

            Suddenly, she was brought out of her trance by a sharp rap on the surface of the table next to her.  "Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagall said looking not at all kindly," would you care to complete your work, or are you going to simply stare into space until the end of the period?"

            Hermione's cheeks burned with shame, and she set to work quickly transfiguring a quill into a large whooping crane.  For the first time since her arrival at Hogwarts, she was actually having difficulty, a point which Ron was all too keen on.

            "Oy, Harry!  Look, Hermione's Crane is just a chick.  Mine's even better than that.  At least it's full grown, even if it is missing a wing."  All around them, people turned to stare.  Hermione knew her friend's jab was meant to be harmless but it filled her with hurt and despair.  Even this she couldn't do right.  For the rest of the period she worked aimlessly, never quite getting the process down pat.  She and Neville were the only members of the class to be assigned extra homework.

            Ron tried to cheer her up on the way to potions.  "What have you got to sulk about, Hermione?  Extra homework should be right up your alley.  You're always trying to make your work harder than it is anyway.  This time, you don't even have to make up something more to do."  Hermione refused to be cheered, and Ron at last gave up trying.

            To call potions a disaster would be making little of it.  Again, Hermione was unable to do anything right.  Her hands shook as she added ingredients, she stirred the mixture the wrong directions and the wrong amounts of time.  Before she was even through, her cauldron began to bubble over, and she felt as though she were going to break down, right there in front of the entire class.  As Snape drew closer and closer she could feel something inside pulling tighter and tighter as though making ready to snap.  This was the end of the line.  She could take no more.

            The attack on her mind came more subtly this time.  Again he tried to sneak in past her defenses.  This time, she made only a weak effort to stop him.  She was facing memories she didn't even know she had, battling demons she had long ago forgotten.  Suddenly, tears came pouring down her face as she begged him to stop, just stop.  

            To her amazement, he did.  She felt his mind pull away from hers.  He leaned in nearer to her.  "We have things we must discuss, Ms. Granger.  Be in my office tonight at 8:30.  Clean this mess up, now; it's burning a hole in my table."  He swished away, pausing only to glare nastily at Dean and Seamus who were writing notes to one another in the front of the room.

            Hermione flicked her wrist and cleared away her ruined potion.  With only five minutes to go, she didn't even bother to start again.  Malfoy walked past her, jeering.  "So, they've finally found something that even a mudblood like you couldn't do.  I guess some things were only meant for the pure."  She said nothing, though she was fuming inside, and hung her head in shame.  Ron and Harry hadn't heard a thing.

            At last she picked up her books and fell into step beside her two friends.  "I need to go to the library and work on all this extra homework.  I'll see you at dinner this evening."

            "Anything we can do to help?"  Harry asked before she could quite get away.

            She smiled ruefully.  "No, but thank you."

            "Hermione, maybe after dinner we could have a game of wizard's chess," Ron suggested.  "it'd do you good to have a bit of fun now and then."

            "I'm sorry, Ron, but I can't.  I have to meet Professor Snape at 8:30 this evening."

            "Why?  I din' hear him say anything about it in class.  He always makes such a big deal out of punishing people."

            "I don't know.  I think it's because I did so poorly on my assignment this afternoon," she lied weakly.  "Anyway, I'll see you at dinner."  She turned and walked up the large marble staircase towards the library.

            "That's it," said Harry.  "I've had enough of this.  Whatever secret she and Snape have, I'm going to find it out tonight."

            Ron looked at him in askance.  "Are you sure that's a good idea, Harry?  Maybe we're better off not knowing."

            "I don't care, Ron.  I think Hermione's in trouble.  She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep, and she hasn't been herself since the beginning of the year.  I know he has something to do with it, and I'm going to find out what it is.  Why else would he suddenly be giving her so many detentions and be trying to read her mind all the time."  He stopped and glared at Ron, who still looked suspicious as to his motives.  "Look, Ron, I just want to make sure Hermione's not in danger.  Dumbledore may trust Snape, but I don't.  My father obviously didn't trust him, and didn't want anything to do with him.  There must have been a reason for that.  I can't let him hurt Hermione."

            Ron sighed in defeat.  "You're right.  What are you going to do?  You can't just barge in there during her detention.  Snape would kill you."

            "Oh, don't worry Ron.  I'll be there, but no one will know it except me, and now you, thanks to the invisibility cloak."

*           *           *

            Hermione Granger made her way down to the dungeons at 8:30 sharp, wanting neither to be late or early.  She was still feeling weak and deflated, though a bit of her emotional strength had returned after spending the afternoon alone.  She shuddered when she thought of what was in store for her: the mind-digging, the accusations.  She wondered why Snape couldn't understand that she would never tell Harry.  Perhaps, tonight, after he learned of the letter to James he would at last let it go.

            She turned her head, feeling as though she were being followed.  _Stop it_, she told herself.  This was getting ridiculous.  All of the anxiety she had been harboring as of lately was now manifesting itself as paranoia.  She stopped in the hallway and slumped against a wall.  She had to pull herself together before she could face Snape.

            After regaining her composure, she rapped on the heavy wooden door that separated the greasy potions master from the rest of the world.  "Come in, Ms. Granger," he said with an air of boredom.  She hung in the doorway for a moment.  "Hurry up now," he snapped.  "We've got a lot to discuss, and we don't have forever to do it in.  Make your way in and shut the door."

            She did as she was told, feeling a light breeze beside her as she turned the latch.  Involuntarily, a shiver slid down her spine.  She wondered if it was always this drafty down here.  She wished Snape would light a fire in his hearth just to ward off the damp chill she now felt on the air.

            "So," he said, eyes nearly crazed, looming ominously over her, "what do you have to say for yourself?"  He was inches from her, his pale face right in hers.  She was desperate for an escape, but found her limbs feeling as though they were filled with lead.  She was unable to move.

            "I didn't tell him Professor!  Why can't you just believe me?"  She was biting her lip to keep from whimpering, which she knew would only make him feel stronger.  "I'll never tell Harry, as long as I live.  Especially not now…"

            "What do you mean by that?" Snape snapped at her, grabbing her shoulders firmly but not violently.  

            Hermione raised her chin slightly, just slightly, feeling the balance of power wasn't resting in Snape's hands alone any longer.  "I wrote a letter," she said.

            Snape exploded.  "Foolish girl!  Now you've ruined everything.  No one is supposed to know, and now, not only are you spreading the facts around, you're writing them down for all the world to see.  At least if you had just been stupid enough to tell someone, it could have been denied or attributed to their lack of understanding.  Now there's written proof."  Snape looked at though he were going to spit, and Hermione quavered ever so slightly.

            "I wrote a letter to James, professor."

            "James who?  What does it matter who you wrote that wretched letter to, so long as you did it.  Everyone loves to hear stories about the Boy Who Lived," Snape said the last as though it were vile poison, rolling it on his tongue before continuing.  "You don't think this will stay quiet for long do you?"

            "Professor, please," Hermione pleaded, trying to reason some sense into the man, "James already knew.  I didn't tell him anything that he was unaware of."

            "Ha!" Snape shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at her.  "So, Dumbledore _was_ wrong about you, just as I said he would be.  I told him you would go running out telling others, just as you did this James fellow.  When did you tell him?  Right after it happened, I suppose.  Didn't bother to ask what it meant, did you?  You never bothered to think of the implications.  All you wanted to do was spread some juicy gossip through the wizarding world."  Snape looked triumphant, though still incensed.

            "Stop it!" Hermione shouted back at him, hating him more than ever at that moment, though not quite comprehending why.  "Professor, on the day you sent Draco to follow me in Hogsmeade, Ginny Weasley and I visited the quill shop before heading to the Three Broomsticks.  While we were there, I purchased a book that I didn't know had magical powers."  

            Snape looked incredulous, and further irritated.  "What does this have to do with anything, Ms. Granger?  Let me guess, the book put you under a spell and made you spread the secret to this James, and all around the Gryffindor common room, and to Harry, is that right?"  His teeth were gritted, his eyes flashing angry fire.

            "Sir, please, if you would allow me to finish."  He stopped his verbal onslaught for a moment, nodding ever so slightly, and she continued.  "The book was entitled _A Wizard's Guide to Writing with the Spirit_.  I thought it was a book about how to write from the heart.  It is actually a book about how to communicate with those who have passed away through written letters delivered by a medium who calls himself "the spirit"."  She could see Snape's mind clicking away as he put two and two together, but she finished the thought for him anyway.  "I wrote a letter to Harry's father, James Potter.  I told him about what I had seen, what I had found out.  He begged me to keep the information from Harry.  He said Harry was better off not knowing, and that things would only get muddled and confusing if he were to find out.  He wanted Harry to know that his family had loved him, and not think that he could have had a life batter than the one he had had if you had just been kind enough to take him in after Lily and James's death.  He could have been a part of this world, rather than going through the emotional torture he had to endure with his muggle relatives, the Dursley's.  After I read that, I knew for sure that I could never tell Harry, though I had already come to that conclusion on my own.  Who knows what kind of balance could be upset were he to find out."

            Snape was quiet for a moment, contemplating.  "You spoke to James?" he said finally, with a great deal of skepticism.  

            "Well, not exactly spoke.  He corresponded back to me in a letter as well.  We wrote to each other."

            "And do you have this letter?"

            "No.  The spirit told me that things from the world beyond could not exist in our world, just as things from our world cannot exist in the world beyond.  There are certain places, he said, where the two worlds can sort of converge.  I go to one of those places when I open the book I was telling you about.  When I'm there, I get parchment and a quill to write the letters.  I come back the next day for the reply.  After reading it, the spirit takes it back and destroys it."

            Snape was looking more intrigued than furious now.  "Assuming that it really was James you communicated with, what did he have to say?"  It was true the two had never gotten along, but Severus felt that he had to know.  It wasn't everyday you got to hear from those long-dead, after all.  

            "He said that he didn't want Harry to know, because he thought that it would only bring him pain and suffering, the same way that the knowledge had brought the two of you pain and suffering.  Especially you, he said.  He said that now he wished it could have been different.  He never did like you, but he said death gives you a unique perspective about what is and isn't important in life.  He said he didn't agree with your choices, but maybe he could see how you would be driven to consider such a life.  He wished you had been given a chance."  Hermione blushed, feeling the weight of the world and years of emotional scarring and trauma upon her shoulders.

            Snape blinked.  "James said that?  About me?  It sounds more like something he would say about one of his buddies than about his own brother."

            Hermione could feel the pain radiating from Snape, and she almost felt sorry for him.  "Professor, I'm sorry.  Is there anything…"

            Snape continued on talking as though she weren't even there.  "He actually acknowledged I was his brother.  Unbelievable."

            "Yeah, It is," said a voice filled with anger and hatred from the far side of the room.  Snape and Hermione quickly looked up in time to watch Harry peeling his father's invisibility cloak away from his body.  "You see, my father had no brother."  With that, he gathered the cloak up and ran for the door.  

            He bolted down the corridor, both Snape and Hermione chasing desperately after him, trying to stun his retreating figure.  "Damn," said Snape.  "How could you have let this happen?  Why did you let him hear that?"

            "I didn't know he was there," Hermione retorted,.  "Didn't you hear anything I just said to you about not telling him because his father didn't want it to be so?"

            "People say a lot of things," Snape sneered down his hooked nose.  "Usually, what they do is a lot different."

            "Never mind," said Hermione, now panting from the effort of running down the hall while bickering furiously with Snape.  "We've got to find Harry."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry ran and ran, his legs pumping faster and faster.  He wouldn't stop, even to check the Marauder's map or to throw on the invisibility cloak.  He just wanted to run from the pain.  He thought that if he were to stop, the pain might be able to catch him, and, at that moment, he felt that that would be more terrible than any punishment he might incur.  So, they had known all along and hadn't seen fit to tell him, even to hint to him.  

                He was enraged more with Hermione than with anyone else.  First, he couldn't understand why she would know something like this about him that no one else except Snape and his father did.  Secondly, he wanted to know why she was given the ability to get in touch with his father, and still hadn't seen fit to tell him of it.  Lastly, he couldn't understand what made her believe that it was up to her to decide what was best for him.  He felt that, being a true friend, she should have come to him with this knowledge right away and let him sort through it for himself.  He was The Boy Who Lived.  He'd been through worse.  Why, then, did he feel as though his world were falling apart?

            Suddenly, he involuntarily stopped, having run full-on into Professor Dumbledore.  "Professor!" he exclaimed, glad it was the headmaster and not Filch.  "I'm sorry, excuse me please."  He moved to head around him, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

            "I'm sorry, Harry.  I'm afraid we shall have to take a trip to my office.  Professor Snape warned me that you were out running in the hallways and needed to be dealt with.  I assumed the offense must be severe, for he saw fit to bypass the authority of both himself and Mr. Filch."

            "He's lying!" growled Harry, now furious.  "They both lie, him and Hermione!"

            Dumbledore looked at the boy benignly.  "Come now, Harry.  It seems to me that Professor Snape was being truthful about your running in the hallways, for you have just plowed into me with the force of a mountain troll.  As forms. Granger's lack of truthfulness, I received no complaints about you from her.  If I had thought about it, I would have assumed she was tucked away in bad, as you should be."

            Harry hadn't even realized they were walking until they reached the spiral staircase that led up to Dumbledore's office.  The headmaster gave the password (Pumpkin Pasty) and they headed upward into his domain.  

            Once inside, Dumbledore conjured up some tea, and motioned for Harry to have a seat.  Though his body and mind were both depleted, Harry could not sit down.  He paced the room, stopping to softly stroke Dumbledore's Phoenix,  Fawkes, before continuing on again.  He thought the pain might catch him if he were to be still.

            Dumbledore sat quietly behind his desk, sipping on a cup of tea and simply watching the boy.  Suddenly, Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew about Snape and his father.  He tried to read the ancient inscrutable face before him, but there was no way to be sure, and certainly no way he could ask.  At last the headmaster cleared his throat.  "Harry, why were you running from Professor Snape?"

            Harry turned to look at Dumbledore, not sure of how to answer, so he tried evading the question.  "Not just Snape, sir.  Hermione was there with him.  Perhaps you should catch her for being out and about late at night as well."

            Dumbledore smiled kindly.  "Never mind Hermione, Harry.  Why were you running from Professor Snape?"

            Harry thought of all he had found out in the past fifteen minutes or so.  "He told me…" suddenly, he cut himself off and stopped, not ready for the truth and covering himself with a half-lie.  "I, I just don't like him, Sir.  He gives me the creeps."

            Dumbledore sighed.  "Harry, that's no reason to run from him.  I am well aware of the fact that the two of you have never gotten along, just as Severus and James never found each other's company amicable.  What happened that made you run."

            Harry knew he could not hide it any longer.  Somehow, too, he knew that Dumbledore already knew the answer.  He was just going to force it out of Harry.  That was his way, after all.  He made you face your fears by bringing them to the forefront and verbalizing them.  Harry had to admit that his tactics often worked to alleviate the gnawing sensations inside of him.  "Sir, Professor Snape told me something I didn't want to hear."

            "What was that, Harry?"

            "He told me that he and my father were brothers."

            Dumbledore looked annoyed.  "He _told _you that?"

            Harry hung his head in shame.  "No, sir.  Hermione has been acting strange since the beginning of the term.  Ron, Ginny, and I have been worried about her.  Tonight, I knew she was to have another detention with Snape, so I decided to follow her.  I wanted to make sure everything was all right, as the two of them have been acting rather ferociously towards one another lately.  I put on my father's invisibility cloak, and followed Hermione to the dungeon.  I almost didn't make it through the door, but once inside I went to the back of the room where I could hear what was going on without being in the way.  He and Hermione started fighting again.  I waited for him to try and read her mind like he has been doing in class lately, but he didn't.  She just started telling him this story about communicating with my father through a book.  Snape looked upset, and said that he and my father are brothers.  That's when I couldn't take it anymore, and I showed myself.  Then I ran out of the room, and, er, bumped into you."  He stopped for breath for a moment.  "Please, sir, tell me it isn't true."

            "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Harry, though you were never meant to know, just as James and Severus were never meant to know."

            "What do you mean, Sir?"

            "Harry, James and Severus weren't just brothers, they were twins who had to be separated shortly after their birth due to financial circumstances beyond the control of their parents.  James remained with his birth parents, and Severus went to another family.  The boys were never told of their blood relation, and it was meant to be kept that way.  Only the two sets of parents and I were privy to the information.  During their last year at Hogwarts, there was a terrible accident on the quidditch field involving James.  He nearly died, and could only be saved through a spell performed simultaneously by a healer and a blood family member.  I called upon Severus Snape, and he and I performed the spell together to save James's life.  I would have let it go at that, but Severus was very cleaver, much like Hermione, and knew immediately what spell we were performing.  He demanded to know why he was doing a spell designed for use by family members on James Potter.  I had no choice but to tell him.  When James pulled through, I felt it only fair that he should know too.  Severus never told anyone, and neither did James.  Even Sirius and Lily didn't know.  The knowledge brought a lot of pain and anger to both boys, especially Severus, who became even more hateful of James in the aftermath.  I wish they had never had to know, but things do happen.  It was a massive kismet of sorts, I suppose."

            Harry stared at the headmaster in disbelief.  "Sir, if Snape is my uncle, then why couldn't I have lived with him all of this time?"  Harry really wouldn't want to live with Snape, it was just that anything seemed better than the Dursley's had been.  He wondered if Snape would have been able to learn to tolerate him had they been thrown together from the beginning.

            Dumbledore sighed heavily.  "Because, Harry, putting you in the care of Severus Snape would have been detrimental to the fate of the wizarding world.  Snape had just come to me for help in escaping the Deatheaters short months before your parents' death.  I then persuaded him to play the role of double-agent.  That would be very hard for him to do while caring for the infant who had brought about the downfall of Voldemort."

            "But, sir, if Voldemort was gone, then why couldn't he have taken me?"

            "Again, Harry, you fail to see the point.  I knew Voldemort would one day return to power, though no one wanted to believe me when I said so.  I felt it would be foolish of me to place you in the hands of a former Deatheater, a man in whose hands it would be so much easier for Voldemort to reach you.  If the dark side knew of your relations with Severus Snape, much of what we had gained through his intervention would be lost.  As it is, Severus walks a fine line between holding their trust and exposing his true intentions."

            Harry shook his head.  "Sir, don't you think that my father would have wanted him to take me?"

            Dumbledore looked as though he would rather not answer, but did anyway.  "No, Harry,  do not.  James loved you with all his heart, but he recognized himself in you.  The resemblance between the two of you is uncanny.  It is very hard for someone like me, who was so close to your father, to believe that you have no memories of him.  James didn't want Severus to mistreat you simply because of your resemblance to James.  He would have wanted another to take you, though I must admit you were not exactly welcome where you went.  Things worked out better that way for everyone, Harry, including you.  I feel that it is important that you grew up away from the wizarding world, away from you fame until you were able to deal with the consequences.  Also, the work that Snape does, though you may not enjoy him, is crucial to The Order.  Without Snape, we would have been ill-prepared indeed for the battles we fought last summer."

            Harry sat in the chair, unmoving, letting the weight of Dumbledore's words sink into him.  "Sir," he asked at last, "why did Hermione know and I didn't?  Why wouldn't she tell me?"

            "Harry, Hermione knew because she was forced into it by her own character.  She went up to the room containing the Black Family Tree one day during the summer.  While she was looking at it and trying to piece together all of the scorch marks and holes that had been blasted through, the Tree, somehow, came to life and told her many tales of wizard families through the ages.  She asked it specifically about your family, wanting to have something to tell you that you could cherish.  Instead, she learned that Professor Snape is your uncle.  She didn't want to tell you, because she thought it would bring you pain.  I don't know why the Tree chose to impart this knowledge onto her, but I suppose there must be a reason, though it remains as yet unseen.  Hermione was trying to do what was in your best interests, Harry.  Take that into consideration before you attack her."

            "Sir, I wouldn't…"

            "You haven't had to face her again yet Harry, you don't know what you would or wouldn't do.  All I am saying is that you should always consider the motives, even if you're not keen on the action.  Now, it is late, and I have much to do tomorrow.  I would beg of you to keep this conversation private for the good of all involved, and many who are not involved, but the choices lies in your hands now."  He stood up , signaling to Harry that the audience was over.  "Good night, Mr. Potter.  And do take care to cover yourself with that cloak on your way back.  I think you have rather enough troubles as it is."  

*           *           *

            Ron Weasley was still awake, sitting on the couch next to his sister Ginny when Hermione returned from her meeting with Snape.  They had been unable to round up Harry, and at last Snape had called upon Dumbledore for assistance.  Hermione hoped Dumbledore had been able to intervene before Harry did something ridiculous or harmful to himself.  She had briefly considered making her way to the headmaster's office, and had then thought better of it.  What was going on in there was private.  She wasn't sure how she would face Harry ever again.

            "Hermione!"  Ron jumped off the couch with falsetto waves of enthusiasm radiating from him.  "great to see you back so soon.  How was Snape tonight?"

            Hermione said nothing, trying to think of a suitable answer.  None came to her.

            "Where's Harry?" asked Ginny.

Ron shook his head at his sister, and made a motion as though he were slicing his throat with his finger.  "What Ginny means is did you run into Harry on your way back here?  He was getting worried, and he went out in the corridors to find you."

Hermione knew this was a lie, but was happy for the opening it gave her.  "I found him, all right.  He was sitting in the back of Snape's office, listening to everything Snape and I discussed.  He must have followed me down there and then snuck in wearing his invisibility cloak."

Ron quickly jumped to his friend's defense, "He was just worried about you, Hermione.  You've been acting weird lately, and spending all kinds of time with Snape.  It's just creepy, you know.  He just wanted to make sure Snape wasn't trying to hurt you.  Look, now he's gone and gotten himself in trouble because Snape caught him eavesdropping.  He did it for you, and the only thing you have the heart to do is be angry with him."

"You don't even know what you're talking about, Ron Weasley," Hermione spat.  "Harry should have never come down there.  What goes on between professor Snape and I is none of his business, nor is it any of yours.  If you wanted to know, you could have asked instead of following me like you're my guardians or something."

Ron fumed, "We tried to ask you, but you wouldn't answer.  You acted like everything was fine, but we knew it wasn't because perfect Hermione was falling apart.  She couldn't do her homework right, she failed some of her class assignments, she didn't care about prefect duty, she ignores her cat, her friends, and her needs.  Hermione, you don't eat, you don't sleep, and, I'm sorry, but you look like bloody hell!"

Hermione was so angry she was shaking now.  "Leave me alone, Ron Weasley.  What I do and why I do it is none of your business."

"I'm making it my business, Hermione."

For the first time, Ginny spoke up.  "Someone needs to make it their business, because it's obvious that Hermione won't."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, now turning her anger on the other girl.

"I mean that you don't seem to care about anything anymore.  I just want to help you, Hermione.  Please, tell us what's wrong so we can help you.  If you share your pain, it makes it easier to deal with.  Look, we all saw things we wish we hadn't seen last summer.  Please let us work through this with you.  We just want to help you."

Hermione could feel her rage ebbing away as Ginny took her hand and led her to the couch.  "Ron, Ginny, I'm sorry," she said.  "Please forgive me."

"Sure thing," said Ron, smiling once again.  "Now, what's the problem.  What's that great slimy git Snape done to you?"

Hermione sighed.  "Snape didn't do anything to me, Ron, he just doesn't appreciate me knowing something I found out over the summer, and he's intent on my keeping it a secret."

"What's the secret, Hermione," asked Ginny.  "You can trust us, you know you can.  We kept all the secrets for The Order, you know."

"You're right," said Hermione, "and I knew I could trust you all along, it was just that Harry shouldn't have known.  That was the only reason I kept it from you.  Please try to understand."  With that she launched into the story of the family Tree, Snape and James's brotherhood, and the correspondence she had been sharing with James through the aid of _A Wizard's guide to Writing with the Spirit_.  When she had finished, she sat back, watching her friend's jaws drop.

"Ohm, Hermione," said Ginny, hugging her friend.  "that's terrible for you to have had to have known that for so long.  I'm so sorry."

"What does Harry think about all of this?" asked Ron.

"I don't know," said Harry, whom the others had not noticed coming through the portrait hole.  He was standing there with a furious expression upon his face, and the others knew he had heard the whole thing.  "after Hermione finishes telling you what she would never tell him, maybe you can ask him."

*           *           *

            Hermione Granger stared as though she had never seen her best friend before in her life.  She wondered how things could have so quickly spiraled out of control.  It seemed like only yesterday her heart had been bursting with the painful secret.  Now, suddenly, it had escaped and she was left with an even greater burden to bear.  She had never wanted Harry to know about the connection between his father and the hated Potions Master.  Even worse was the thought of him having found out in this way.

            "Harry, I didn't see you standing there."  Hermione's nervous grin quickly slid from her face.  She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do.  She thought of her time-turner from her third year, and wished desperately that she could use the device to restore order to the chaos her life had suddenly become.  She knew that altering the past was forbidden, but she felt that her morality would escape unscathed in this case, for surely her redemption would be for the greater good.  Unfortunately, the days of the time turner were gone, and that option was no longer available to her.

            "Oh," he said coldly, raising his eyebrows.  "I suppose if you had you would have kept your secret until a more convenient time.  One in which I wasn't around?"  His voice was devoid of any warmth or heart, and sent a shiver down her spine.  She had never heard such a tone from anyone she loved, and guilt gnawed at her heart, for it had been her actions that had driven him to this callousness.

            "Harry, it was never meant to be like this!  No one was ever supposed to know.  Not you, not Ron, not Ginny.  No one."  She could feel a lump of hysteria in the back of her throat, and she swallowed this bitter medicine down.  Tears collected on her lower eyelids, and she furiously wiped them away, angry at her lack of control.

            "Of course it wasn't.  You wouldn't want to tell me, after all."  His gaze was one such as she had never seen.  His eyes were hard and cold and she could see no trace of the friend she knew within them.  Again, he raised his eyebrows, continuing in that maddening apathetic melody he had adopted since his appearance.  "I couldn't handle, after all.  I'm sure that's what you think.  Been through enough lately, have I?"  

            She could feel the anger rising deep within her, and she bit back her lip to cap off the impending eruption.  She shook slightly, wishing that he would show some emotion for just a moment, that any sliver of feeling would escape his otherwise stoic demeanor, letting her know that he stilled cared for her enough to be angry with her.  There was nothing.

            The silence in the room grew thick and heavy like a blanket.  Ron and Ginny said nothing, just stared as the scene before them played out like a terrible accident.  Ginny was biting at her finger nails as Ron stared intently at a spot on the couch, trying to rub it out with his thumb.  It was apparent that neither wanted to take sides, so there they stayed, fidgeting with nervous discomfort, too ill at ease to walk away.  

            Hermione moved a step closer to her friend, wanting to make some sort of physical contact with him, to create a bond between them.  He did nothing to impede her progress, but still she stopped before ever reaching him, too unnerved to continue.  "Harry," she said, almost pleading.  "I didn't want to hurt you.  Please, believe me."  If she thought begging his forgiveness would have made some measure of difference, she would have, but she knew that such measures would be ineffective.  His exoneration would have to come on its own terms.

            "Hermione, it isn't for you to decide how I should feel and if I should be allowed to feel that way.  I don't care what you meant by what you did, if you were truly my friend, you would have told me right away."  He scowled.  "If I haven't broken by now, I'm not going to."

            She wanted to believe him, and her mind told her to let it go.  He would simmer down and things would be better in the morning.  Not back to normal, of course.  They may never be back to normal, but better.  She couldn't just let it go, though.  She couldn't let him think that he was an island unto himself.  "Harry, everyone has a breaking point," she whispered softly, not quite daring to meet his emerald eyes.

            For a moment, a brief flash of doubt tainted his face, disappearing before she could be totally certain that that was truly the reaction that had transpired.  Still, his voice was not quite so harsh this time, despite his words: "I don't."

            "Believe what you want Harry," Hermione said quietly, too sad and tired now to be angry.  "Just know that I'm here for you if you want to know the truth."

            Harry too looked somewhat deflated, she noticed as she turned from him to trudge up the seemingly interminable flight of stairs which led to her bedchamber.  "If I want the truth," he said to her retreating figure, "I'll just parade about in my invisibility cloak until I overhear it somewhere."  The coldness in his voice no longer had the hard edge to it, she noticed, and she felt just the slightest flutter of hope that perhaps one day things could be okay between them again.

            "Do as you like," she shrugged tiredly, turning the knob to her doorway.  She was too tired to fight, too tired to feel, too tired to care.  She drug her weary body over to her bed, falling upon the comforter still clad in her robes, and hoped that either sleep or death would claim her.

            Unfortunately, neither did.

*           *           *

Harry sat up late in his bed, the curtains drawn around him to block out the outside world.  When they had first settled in for the night, he had heard Ron's whispered attempts to speak with him, but had chosen to ignore them, instead feigning sleep.  He almost laughed to himself that his friend had actually fallen for it.  How could anyone think that he would be able to sleep now, after everything he had just been subjected to?  He wondered if the others realized how many sleepless nights he had endured in his lifetime.

            He didn't know what to think about first, Hermione's deceit, his relationship with Snape, or the book that allowed conversation with his long-dead father.  He tried to think things through one by one, but he found this increasingly difficult, as the different topics began spilling over onto one another, ultimately leading him no where.  Now he breathed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind like Snape had tried to teach him all last year.  Again, as they always before had, his attempts failed.

            Frustrated, and physically aching with the pain in his heart, he clenched the bed spread between his fingers, trying desperately to find something to cling to as he felt his reality now slipping away.  Hours ago, out in the light he had been able to put on a brave facade and push through this latest challenge in his abstruse life.  Now, alone in the darkness, he could feel his grip on sanity slipping away.

            He fought to hold on, his fingers desperately groping at the crumbling edge of the precipice that was his mind.  He bit his lower lip until it bled, tasting the sharp coppery sensation and wondering why, it seemed, that everything must always happen to him.  He had been amicable to his reality.  Certainty not happy, not sense the death of Sirius, but able to live with what had been placed before him.  The summer had been long and difficult, but once again he had endured.  He was a survivor.  Now, there was this, and he didn't know how much more he could take.

            He remembered how Hermione had just imbued to him that nothing could bend forever without breaking.  He had tried to act flippant and wave away her remark, but he wondered if she had noticed that he hadn't quite been able to pull off the attitude he had been striving for.  She had struck a nerve with him, for, after his chat with Dumbledore, he had been thinking the same thing, though not quite so eloquently as she.  

            He had always heard that what doesn't kill you will serve only to make you stronger.  Time after time he had grown that much stronger, that much harder.  This time, though, was different.  He had finally reached a point where he could take no more.  This was killing him.

            He leaned back against his pillow, not knowing if he should be frustrated, enraged, or dispirited.  He closed his eyes, hoping for the mercy of sleep, but knowing that it would not come.  He thought about the morning, and he shuddered.  He didn't want to face Hermione, and he didn't think that he could face, he gagged at the thought, Uncle Snape.  For uncountable minutes, his mind reeled with pain, things steadily becoming murkier instead of clearer.

            Suddenly, an idea struck him.  Slowly, he pulled the covers away from his body and let his feet light to the floor, careful to avoid the loose and creaking boards all around his bed.  He snuck to his trunk, carefully opening the lid, and removed the invisibility cloak.  For a moment, doubt flashed through his mind, but was quickly overcome by staunch determination as he flipped the cloak over his shoulders.

            It was time to get some answers.

*           *           *

            The corridor was silent, an eerie chill wending its way through the still night air.  Harry breathed softly, careful not to allow his warm breath to condense before him.  Nervously, he glanced again and again at the Marauder's Map he carried with him.  Mentally, he chided himself.  This trip should be no different than the many other time he had illegally found himself wandering the corridors long after curfew.  This time, however, there were extenuating circumstances which bred the anxiety he now harbored in his heart.

            Suddenly, he heard a loud crash coming from the end of the corridor.  Acting from both instinct and experience, he jumped to the side of the passageway, pressing his lean body against the wall so as to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.  He knew that it wouldn't do to get caught simply for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He concentrated on breathing slowly and quietly, trying not to exist.

            In no time at all, activity abounded in what had moments ago been stony silence.  Filch, the moldering old caretaker tottered his way past Harry, his moth-eaten cat Miss Norris pausing as she neared the boy's feet, turning her lamp like eyes upon him.  Not for the first time, Harry had the sneaking suspicion that invisibility cloaks were ineffective against animals.  Fortunately, Filch was too absorbed in the commotion that had just passed to notice his cat's momentary pause, and without any acknowledgment from her master, the feline continued on in his wake.

            Moments later, Snape leisurely strolled through his door just steps away from Harry.  Harry tried desperately to blank out his mind, afraid that Snape would sense him nearby.  Snape, however, was obviously preoccupied by the disturbance, and continued slowly down the hall, leaving his doorway slightly ajar.  It was now or never, Harry decided, and he silently crept through once he was confident that the Potions Master was absorbed in the latest mischief and havoc created by Peeves, Hogwarts's resident poltergeist.

            Silently thanking the trouble maker for his unintentional services, Harry carefully shut the door all but a crack behind him, willing that the hinges would not creak.  Silently, still covered by his invisibility cloak, he moved through the living quarters of Snape's small apartment, and headed for a door off to the left which he knew must lead to the Potions classroom and Snape's adjacent office.  He had intended to try to break into the area by use of magic, but Peeves had made thing much more convenient for him.

            He found that the door leading to the office was unlocked.  Turning the knob, his heart beat quickened as he moved to step inside.  He hoped it was still there, but knew better than to get his hopes up.  After all, he was uncertain if the pensive he had previously seen in the office was the same one that belonged to Dumbledore, or if it was Snape's personal possession.  Even if it was there, he had to hope that Snape was confident enough in his security to leave memories in it, and did not simply remove them for storage in his own brain during sleep at the end of each day.

            To Harry's immense surprise, the lights were all on in Snape's office when he stepped through the door, and a fire was crackling merrily in the hearth.  For a moment, he was very confused.  Then, the presence of a small green creature started to make things clear.  

            "Dobby," he whispered quietly to the house elf that was busily straightening up around the room, and had obviously failed to notice the opening of the door behind him.  "Dobby," he whispered again, this time sufficiently loud enough to alert the elf's attentions.

            "Dobby is hearing someone speaks, but Dobby sees no one."  The elf looked around, his saucer-like eyes seeming to grow even wider with astonishment.  "Perhaps Dobby is going mad."  A moment passed in silence, then the elf continued.  "Is someone there?"

            Carefully, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak apart where it was overlapping on his face the slightest bit, just enough to let the elf know who it was that he was speaking with.  "Dobby, it's me, Harry."

            Dobby leapt towards him enthusiastically.  Four years ago, Harry had helped to free the eccentric elf from his servitude with the Malfoy family after Dobby had attempted to help save the young wizard's life several time.  Now Dobby regarded the boy as somewhat of a hero.  "Harry Potter!  Dobby did not expect to see you down in the dungeons of Professor Snape tonight.  Dobby must ask, sir what you are doing here."

            "Dobby," said Harry quietly, hoping that his lowered timbre would prompt the elf to match, "I'm looking for a pensive, like the one Professor Dumbledore has in his office.  It's a stone basin that looks as though it is full of silvery material.  People use it to store some of their thoughts and memories in.  Have you seen one in this office?"

            "Harry Potter, sir, Dobby knows what a pensive is.  Dobby has seen a pensive here in this very place, inside that cabinet over there."  Dobby pointed a gnarled green finger excitedly to a giant curio cabinet on the opposite side of the room.  "Would sir like for Dobby to retrieve it?"

            Harry didn't answer; he was already on his way to retrieve the item, wanting to use it before Snape could have a chance to find him here.  Already, he knew that his presence was risky.  Whatever trouble Peeves had caused shouldn't take too much time to sort out.  Quickly he located the basin.  He placed it upon Snape's desk, warning Dobby to be quiet so that Snape wouldn't have any reason to interrupt his actions.  As he leaned forward, he could see that he was in luck. It seemed as though Snape had decided he could better sleep without so many thoughts floating about in his head.  Carefully, Harry leaned forward, drawing nearer and nearer to the scene before him until suddenly he felt a swirling sensation and he was drawn in.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry stood back, watching the now familiar scenario unfold around him.  He remembered the surprise he had felt the first time he had been drawn into another's memories of the past through the use of a pensive.  During his fourth year, the memories he had observed had belonged to Albus Dumbledore.  The second time he had shared in the memories of another it had also involved Snape.  He knew now to stand quietly and watched as the scenario unfolded around him

            He found himself standing in the hospital wing, staring down at the broken body of his father.  Blood poured from the elder Potter's forehead, coagulating in his messy black bangs.  James's glasses were broken, the lenses shattered and the wire frames twisted at an odd angle, as was James's left leg.  He looked pale and sallow, his breaths barely filling his chest before being expelled, the inhalations too far apart to be normal.

            Harry felt his stomach churn as he looked upon the scene.  He wanted to reach out to his father, to help comfort him in any way possible but he knew that this was a wish that just could not be.  What he was seeing now was nothing more than a memory.  He couldn't become involved, and he couldn't change the past.  All he could do was stare on in horror.

            He could see Dumbledore standing at his father's bedside, looking slightly anxious, which Harry took as a grave sign.  The Headmaster was rarely moved to show any sort of negative emotion.  His benign smile was something of a trademark, and Harry knew that any differentia from this was something he should find rather alarming.  

            Harry turned to the left and saw Snape hanging back by the curtains, obviously having entered the room just as Harry had fallen into his memory.  He looked slightly malevolent, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide his true feelings about the situation before him from Dumbledore.  His face was inexpressive, but his eyes belied the hatred he felt for Harry's father.  Harry shuddered involuntarily.  He wasn't comfortable having Snape so near his father, much less knowing that his professor would be performing powerful magic on James.

            "Ah, Severus," said Dumbledore, now smiling slightly.  "I was hoping you would be able to come on such short notice."

            "As though I had a choice."  Snape's expression was polite, but his tone of voice gave him away.  He looked at James again and Harry could have sworn he saw the greasy hooked nose teenager that was Snape smile slightly.  Harry felt hot anger rise within him, but regained control of himself quickly.  He knew the outcome of this.  He had only to sit and watch.

            Dumbledore chose to ignore the disingenuous remark, instead lobbying for Snape's help.  "As you can see Severus, there has been a serious accident involving Mr. Potter on the quidditch pitch today.  I need your help to ensure his survival."  Even as Harry watched, he could see the life slipping from his father.  Though he knew that the older man's death would come in a much different time, place and way he still felt a hot lump of anxiety rising in his throat.  He wished the two men before him would hurry up.

            "Why don't you just ask Madame Pompfery?  I would think that she would be far more qualified to handle this situation than am I."  Snape turned away as though to leave.

            "Stay where you are, Severus," Dumbledore bellowed.  "I asked for your help, and now I intend to receive it."  His benign smile was all but gone.  "I have given you the benefit of the doubt many many times, Severus.  Trust me, should you turn away from James in his moment of need that benefit is something you will no longer enjoy."  Harry felt fear strike into even his heart, and hoped that the headmaster would never have occasion to speak to him like this.  Harry had always been told that Dumbledore was the only wizard Lord Voldemort had ever feared.  In the rare instances where the ancient headmaster became angered, he could understand why.

            Apparently, Dumbledore's mood change was not lost on Snape either.  "I believe blackmail is illegal, headmaster," he said silkily.  Harry almost snorted aloud at the irony as he recalled all of the times Snape had reprimanded him for speaking with anything less than utmost respect.

            "Severus, I do not believe in blackmail.  I believe that we must reach an understanding, and that we must reach it quickly, or James will die.  Why I have called upon you for help is irrelevant.  It matters only that you help him here and now, and I will do whatever it takes to procure that help from you as quickly as possible."  He let that sink in a moment, and continued.  "Now, bring your wand over here and help me save James."

            Snape stepped slowly to the edge of the bed opposite the headmaster, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else right then.  He sighed with resignation and deep loathing.  "So long as no one hears of this.  Imagine, me helping James Potter.  I would be kicked out of my own house." 

            "Consider it our secret."  Dumbledore winked, raising his wand and placing it upon James's heart.  "Simply do as I do Severus, and repeat after me."

            Harry watched as the two performed incantation after incantation.  After the first few, he noticed Snape's head jerk up, and saw him stare at Dumbledore with an expression that was both infuriated and perplexed.  After that moment, the recitations came flowing from Snape's moment simultaneously with Dumbledore's.  Harry watched the headmaster's shoulders slump, and he realized that the headmaster knew that Snape not only knew the words of the spell, but its implications as well.  Snape now knew that he and James were family.

            The wands were slowly lowered at the end of the spells.  "Now only time will tell," Dumbledore whispered softly.  "I thank you for your help, Severus."

            Snape was seething.  "What the hell was that about?  You owe me an explanation, headmaster.  That spell is only to be performed by family members in conjunction with a qualified healer.  Since I am far from being the latter, I am forced to assume that I have the unfortunate fate of being related to Potter."  He practically spat the last words.  His hands were clenched and he shook with rage.

            "Severus, I must implore you to speak to me with respect, no matter what your emotional state may be."  He raised his eyebrows, not smiling.  "Your assumption is correct, you and James are related.  In fact, you are brothers, twin brothers separated shortly after birth due to extenuating family circumstances.  James remains in the custody of your biological parents, and you were adopted into the Snape family."  He smiled kindly now, and reached out towards Severus as though to touch the teenager's shoulder. 

Snape drew away, his lip curled in a sneer.  "You're wrong, headmaster," he said, the silky quality of his voice now gone and having been replaced by a hard, steely tone that could only be described as pure evil.  "I don't care if the blood running through our veins is the same.  I have no brother."  With that, he spun on his heel and marched away, forcing Harry to follow in his wake.

Suddenly, the walls around him began to swirl.  When Harry had regained his bearings, the world around him was quite different than the one he had just left.  He was standing down in Snape's damp dungeon which looked much the same as it did in the present day.  Snape's hair was longer, and there were large dark circles beneath his eyes.  His pallor, if it was possible, had an even paler cast to it.  As Harry watched, his professor was leaning over a blank sheaf of paper, writing upon the top page with a long black quill.

Suddenly, there was a knock upon the door which made Harry jump.  Snape scowled and dropped his pen on the desk, jerking back as chair as he moved to answer the door.  "Yes," he said in a voice that plainly stated he wanted no company.  Harry couldn't make out the figure on the other side of the door, until it was slowly pulled open to reveal Dumbledore.

The headmaster looked unusually grave.  "He's gone, Severus."

"Yes, headmaster.  The Dark Mark disappeared an hour or so ago.  I can't feel it burning beneath my skin any more.  I was hoping it meant he had been defeated."  Harry wondered if the last statement was true, but Snape's voice seemed sincere enough.

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed, "it appears he finally found one the avada kedavra couldn't dispose of."

Snape nodded slightly.  "If I may, Professor, who was the Dark Lord's final combatant."

"Harry Potter."

"Sir, perhaps I misheard you.  I believe you said Harry Potter.  Didn't you mean the golden wonder man, champion of wizards and muggles alike, James Potter."  Snape glowered.  "It figures that it would be him.  Everything always has to be about him after all.  He never even tries and everyone thinks he is some kind of hero.  Of curse, James always got the better end of every deal."

Dumbledore's voice was quiet and he sounded as though he carried with him the weight of the world.  "Stop, Severus.  Stop before you regret something you say."

"Perhaps I should go congratulate him then.  I'll buy him a drink and tell him what a wondrous job he's done of making the world safe for wizards and muggles alike."  Snape rolled his eyes facetiously. 

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Severus."

"Why is that?"

"Because," said Dumbledore in the voice of one that would never stop feeling the hurt, "James and Lily are dead."

"But you said that someone survived the curse and that was what destroyed the Dark Lord."

"It James's son, Severus.  It was your nephew, Harry."

 Snape turned away from Dumbledore then, and sat back down at his desk, resuming his writing.  For uncountable minutes, Dumbledore stood watching the Potions Master shaking his head in what Harry could only discern to be angry disbelief.  At last Snape turned around.  "I thought we were through, headmaster.  Did you need me to show you out?"

"The boy is your nephew, Severus.  Don't you care what happens to him?"

"I've told you a thousand times, I have no brother.  Therefore, I have no nephew either."

"He's going to go live with his muggle relatives."

Severus said nothing, he merely continued writing.  After a moment, he looked up again.  "Headmaster, you know how I feel about James.  That's all you need to know to see how I feel about the boy.  I'm sorry James is dead, but I'm far more relieved that the Dark Lord is gone.  Now, if you please, I have urgent lesson plans to attend to."

Dumbledore shook his head again.  "Good evening, then, Severus."  The headmaster opened the door to the hallway and Harry heard a voice and felt a hand gripping his right shoulder.  "Harry Potter, sir!  Harry Potter you must hurry!  Please Harry Potter, Sir must leave the pensive."

Harry felt as though he were rushing towards the surface of the ocean depths.  Colors and sounds were swirling dizzily around him as he returned to Snape's office in present-day Hogwarts.  Dobby was excitedly standing on the desk gripping Harry by the shoulder as the boy pulled his head from the pensive.

"Dobby heard Snape return to his living quarte5rs, sir.  Sir must hide quickly!"  Dobby helped Harry to pull the invisibility cloak over his head, and pushed his back into a corner safely out of harm's way just as Snape stormed into the office.

"What is all this racket?  Elf, what is going on in here?  Explain yourself at once!"  Snape was in as bad a humor as Harry had ever seen him.  He was staring at Dobby with the special look of loathing he usually reserved especially for Harry.

"Dobby was dusting sir.  Dobby found this bowl, and Dobby was trying to clean it out.  The filth was stubborn, sir, and Dobby was yelling at it.  Dobby is sorry to have disturbed sir."  The house elf hung his head in shame, but winked at Harry's corner, pointing a long finger towards the exit.

Harry needed no further encouragement.  Quietly and swiftly, he crept towards the door, still listening as Snape ranted on.  "You have no right to be in my storage cabinet elf, or to try to interfere with my personal things.  That is a valuable item, and great damage could have been done if you had succeeded in removing its contents, or worse yet if you had seen them.  Never come back here again!  I'll clean my office myself.  I'm sure I would be far more confident and adept than you or any of your kind!"

Harry watched Dobby scuttle past him, and saw Snape pick up the pensive and slam it down on the shelf of the storage cabinet.  Quickly, Harry ran for the exit, hoping to escape before Snape could catch him.  He felt his cloak catch on something, and it pulled away from his head.  Snape's footsteps were coming nearer and nearer.  He had to get out of there.

He yanked on the cloak, freeing it, and replaced it to cover him completely.  His hand touched the doorknob, and he pulled it open.  Just as he was slipping through to the outside world, Snape entered his living area.  Harry's heart began to beat so loudly he was certain that Snape could hear it.  He stepped back slowly, careful not to make any noise.  Fortunately, Snape was in such a bad humor at Dobby he blamed the open door on the elf.  "Dammed incompetent servants.  How are they supposed to care for the castle when the can't eve shut a door."  He growled out the words and slammed the heavy oak door with such force that Harry felt the cloak blow away from his ankles.

Not wasting a moment, Harry ran for it.  He screamed out the password three times to wake the fat lady in her portrait hole.  He burst through, and only then did he begin to breath again.  All of the incidents tonight had been too close for comfort.

He looked up towards the stairs, but suddenly felt too weary to climb them.  He made his way over to the couch in front of the fireplace and stretched out upon it, covering himself with his invisibility cloak, letting sleep help him to make sense of his new life.

*           *           *

            Hermione looked around the great hall the next morning, her eyes bleary and surrounded by deep dark circles.  She had not slept at all the night before, her encounter with Harry had so greatly disturbed her.  She knew her pain was nothing compared to his.  She took a deep breath, hoping to see him, but, at the same time, hoping even more not to.

            She spotted Ron at the end of the table, a messy head of black hair seated across from him.  Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage, wondering why things always had to be so difficult, and headed for her friends.  She had nearly reached them, but neither had yet looked up.  Suddenly, she was headed off by Ginny.

            "Hermione, um," Ginny bit her lower lip, and stole a quick glace at Ron and Harry, "why don't you just sit with me and the other girls today?  We're planning a trip to London over the holidays for a bit of shopping.  It would be great if you would join us."  She smiled broadly, waiting for a response.

            Ginny was too enthusiastic, too happy.  Hermione wondered what had been said before she had reached breakfast to cause Ron's sister to head her off so quickly and completely.  Hermione didn't smile back.  "What's going on, Ginny?"

            Ginny sighed.  "You really, really have to ask."

            Not really, no.

            When Hermione didn't answer aloud, Ginny continued.  "Harry is really upset, Hermione.  I know he shouldn't blame you, but he is anyway.  I think he's having trouble dealing with everything, and he's going to try to make it better by taking it out on you because he doesn't know what to else to do."

            "Why does he think taking his problems out on me is going to make them any easier to face?  That's so childish.  Doesn't he understand that I didn't tell him about Snape because I knew he would feel this way?"  Her recent lack of sleep was bringing her to the point of hysteria.  "Why can't he understand that I handled things the way I did because I _do_ care about him?"  She bit her lip, fighting back the tears and breathing deeply to balance herself.  She would not cry.  Damn it, she would not cry.

            "Hermione," Ginny pleaded, "please just come sit down with me.  Come talk with me and Parvati and Lavender, and take your mind off Harry for a minute."

            "How can I forget about this, Ginny?"

            "Please, Hermione, sit down."  

            Hermione looked around, and saw that students from around the hall were staring.  She didn't want to sit down, but she didn't want to field questions about her near breakdown and what had caused it.  She smiled bravely and followed Ginny to the table resignedly.  Girl talk wasn't something she really enjoyed under the best of circumstances, but perhaps Ginny was right and some low-key babbling would help to take her mind off the disaster her life had become.

            She sat in almost stony silence, only occasionally interjecting comment or offering a slight smile.  She picked at her food, shoving it around her plate to make it look as though she were eating, and occasionally taking a bite to keep from having to become totally immersed in the conversation.  After spending what she felt was a polite amount of time at the table, she excused herself, feigning that she had left a bit of homework in Gryffindor tower and had to run back and retrieve it before Transfiguration.

            Once past the entrance hall, she broke into a run, panting by the time she had reached the portrait hole.  She had to escape from the wondering glances of her fellow students, from her duties as a prefect, from friends who meant well but never quite got it right.  By the time she landed on her bed she was in tears. 

            Her body racking with sobs, she reached into the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out "A Wizard's Guide to Writing With the Spirit."  Desperately, she leafed through the pages, waiting for the familiar sensation as she was transported to the intermediary world between her life and the Spirit Realm.  At last, she felt the world spinning around her.

            She landed on her feet and immediately began pacing, growing impatient for the Spirit to appear.  She felt as though there was nothing in her that could wait any longer for help with her problems.  After a few lengthy moments, he appeared.  "Ah, Hermione," he smiled slightly.  "How can I be of service to you?"

            "I have to write a letter."  She reached out to him, her hands open for quill and parchment.

            He shook his head slightly.  "Very well then."  A small desk with writing supplies appeared in the far corner.

            Quickly, she moved to the desk and sat down.  Her hand shook as she began to write:  "_Dear Sirius Black..."_

*           *           *

            Ron looked around the transfiguration classroom.  "Harry, where do you reckon Hermione is, mate?"

            "Probably with her new best friend Snape.  They're probably having a good time talking about me right now.  Maybe he can tell her all about the night my father died.  She'll probably like that story.  He was so busy _doing work_ and _caring only about himself _that it didn't even bother him."

            Ron looked at him in askance.  "Come on, mate.  Hermione's not like that."

            "I never thought so before.  But, I also never thought that she would have forgotten to tell me that Snape is my uncle."

            "Quiet," said Ron sharply.  "Do you want the whole school to know?  Besides, she didn't "forget" to tell you.  She chose not to because she thought it would be best, not because she wanted to hold it over you or something.  You have to consider the motives, Harry."

            "What motives would we be considering, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall asked sharply, looking up from the mouse she was transforming into a guinea pig.  

            Ron's cheeks burned to match his hair.  "Um, yours, professor.  Harry here was wondering why we have to transform mice so often."

            "Because they're easy to transform, Mr. Weasley."  She looked sternly at the two of them.  "What motives did you believe I had?"

            "I thought it was because you can transform into a cat.  I thought maybe you had a special hatred for mice."  

            Ron thought he saw her lips twitch slightly, but he couldn't be sure.  "See me after class Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."

            "Nice job, Ron," Harry glowered.

            Ron shrugged.  At least Harry seemed to have forgotten about Hermione for the moment.  Ron, however, had not.  He frowned with concern, wondering what could have happened to her.

*           *           *

            Hermione appeared seemingly none the worse for wear and looking slightly more chipper than she had when Ron had sneaked a peek at her down the length of the breakfast table earlier that morning.  Despite Harry's glare, Ron seated himself next to the brunette.  "What happened to you this morning, Hermione?  I saw you at breakfast, but then you were absent from transfiguration.  Is everything all right?"

            Hermione wondered why people always seemed to ask such thick questions.  After everything that had happened in the past few days, how could everything possibly be all right?  She fought the urge to shake Ron and ask him where his mind had been, instead answering, "Fine, I just had a bit of a headache is all."

            Ron nodded, seeming satisfied with the all-purpose lie that everyone seemed to believe when it was a pithy excuse, but no one accepted when it was actually true.  Hermione turned away, attending to her materials for the days potion, but it was hard to keep her mind on the lesson, so distracted was she by the prospect of Sirius's reply.

            "Ron," she heard Harry whisper loudly, "is this supposed to turn brown and chunky after you add the cloven hooves?"

            Ron looked slightly alarmed.  "I don't think so mate.  Maybe we should ask Hermione."  He turned to the girl "Herm…"

            Harry cut him off.  "No way, Ron.  I'd rather ask Snape.  At least he might _tell me_."

            Hermione felt herself shake with a mixture of sadness and rage.  How could Harry Potter, The Golden Boy Who Lived be so incredibly shallow?  Why couldn't he understand?  She bit her lip, counting to ten first in English, then in Spanish, then in French, trying to quell her ferocious anger, but it was to no avail.  Her fury suddenly erupted like a volcano.

            "What is it that I have to do to make you forgive me, Harry?  I don't understand why it's so hard for you to comprehend the events that have gone on thus far.  When did you become so thick?"  She slammed her potions book down, slopping a measure of her completed Searing potion into a vial.  Furious, she stormed up to Snape's desk, depositing her completed project, robes billowing around her.

            Snape was unmoved by her melodramatic display.  "Miss Granger, if you have finished the potion you may turn it in without all of the fanfare.  Ten points from Gryffindor for constantly annoying me.  Now sit down and be quiet.  The lovers-quarrels between you and Potter are of no interest to the class."  He turned back to _Potions Quarterly_, his face neutral.

            Hermione's cheeks burned with shame.  "What's the matter, Granger?" asked Malfoy with an evil grin upon his face.  "Did you and Potty have a fight?"

            "Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, glaring at him as though she dared him to say another word.  Malfoy, as he knew what was good for him, said nothing.  

Snape, however, was not so passive.  "A further fifteen points from Gryffindor for your ridiculous melodrama.  Miss Granger, kindly leave your personal problems behind when you come to class and spare us all the humiliation of watching your pitiful dramatic interpretation of you and Potter's love gone bad."

                Malfoy smirked evilly at her.  Hermione clenched her teeth, not daring to let the words she would have liked to say slip through her thinned lips.  She could feel Snape's eyes boring into the back of her head and moved on towards her seat, fuming.  She sat down and crossly folded her arms, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply, saying her alphabet first in English, then in French, then in Greek.  Suddenly, she felt a presence standing behind her.  She turned around sharply.  "Malfoy."  She said, eyes narrowing.

            "What amazing powers of observation you have, Granger."  He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and cocked his head a bit to the left.

            "What do you want, Draco?"

            'Look there, on the desk."  He grinned and moved away from her slightly.  Hermione glanced towards the desk, not knowing what to expect.  What she saw paralyzed her in horror.  One of Malfoy's cronies, Crabbe, was standing there doing a bizarre dance in a puddle of potion as he tried to keep his shoes from becoming completely melted on the floor.  Hermione noticed that Crabbe was still holding his own vial in his hand.

                "Ow!  Professor, help me, please."  Crabbe tried to jump up and down, but it was too difficult for him, the heels having turned into a hot, gummy mess that was rapidly hardening to the stone floor of the dungeon.  

            Snape rolled his eyes.  "Clumsy idiot boy.  I leave my desk for one moment to procure ingredients for my next class, and you manage to knock someone's potion to the floor."  Snape shook his head slightly, raising his wand.

            "I didn't do it, Professor," Crabbe howled, obviously in horrific pain.  "I swear it was already broken.  I just didn't see it there and I stepped in it."  He tried to jump again, and this time succeeded in freeing h9is left shoe from the gelatinous mess of simmering rubber it had become.  Unfortunately, that boy was by no means graceful, and he had stumbled sideways.  Without a sole on his shoe to protect him, his foot landed directly in the potion.

            "I'm surrounded by idiots," Snape glowered, flicking his wand slightly.  "Firigidouso!"  Instantly, the puddle cooled into ice.  Crabbe whimpered as he gingerly stepped down on his blistered feet, picking up his newly distorted shoes.  Gingerly, he walked away as best as he could, Malfoy snorting in sarcastic glee.

            "You are evil," Hermione glared at him.  "I thought he was your friend."

            "What good are friends if they can't provide you with a little entertainment now and then?  Nice dancing, Crabbe," he said as the boy walked past." Crabbe grinned slightly, as though he were afraid to snap back at the blond boy and continued on.  Malfoy turned back to Hermione.  "Speaking of entertainment, have a listen."

            Hermione, disgusted by Malfoy's callousness, turned her attention back to Snape, who was now picking up shards of the broken bottle.  "_Reparo,_" he said, pointing his wand at the tiny glass slivers.  He turned the newly fixed bottle around so he could read what was left of the label.  Suddenly, his eyes filled with something Hermione could have only described as sadistic glee.  "Well, Miss Granger, it appears that none of your potion survived to be turned in.  Your first 'F'."  

            "My first what?' she squeaked, eyes widening in horror.  Could it be that that was really her vial Snape held in his hand, the contents frozen solid on the floor of the dungeon?

            "'F'," said Snape.  "It means 'fail'."

            Malfoy smirked.  "What's the matter, Granger?  Going to run away crying?"

            Hermione hung her head as she gathered up her materials and stuffed them haphazardly into her schoolbag.  She wanted to protest to Snape, tell him that it was obvious that the potion she had concocted had been done correctly, for it had been effective in burning Crabbe's shoes from his feet, but she knew it would be no use.  Not only had Snape already made up his mind, the words sounded terrible and cold as they resounded in her head.  She hoped, for a moment, that one of her friends might step in on her behalf, but as she tried to make eye contact with Harry he looked away.  Ron shrugged feebly, following Harry up the steps and out of the dungeon.

            Slowly, and with an effort that took much out of her, Hermione ascended the steps, trying to pull herself back together.  Her steps quickened as she neared the exit, Malfoy trailing along directly behind her.

            "How did that feel, Granger?"

            She turned around to face Malfoy.  She wanted to be spiteful, but, for the moment, it felt as though her spirit had been all but drained from her.  "How d you think it felt, Malfoy?"

            His face assumed a look of pure arrogance.  She could see him draw his shoulders back and lift his chin up, conceit dripping from his every pore.  "I really wouldn't know.  It was quite amusing to watch, however.  My little moment of carelessness worked out far better than I ever could have expected."

            Hermione looked at him incredulously.  'What are you saying?"

            He shrugged slightly, raising his eyebrows.  'I went up to hand my potion in, and I accidentally caught the vial furthest back with the sleeve of my robe and knocked it off of the desk.  I didn't want to get a detention, so I just stepped away, as Snape was preoccupied in the supply room.  I knew it had to be yours.  You always turn everything in first.  That's what you get for showing off, I suppose.  Anyway, not only did I get to watch Crabbe's pathetic attempt at dancing, I got to witness your first failure.  All in all a quite satisfying day."

            Hermione felt a twinge of her spirit returning as fire burned deep in the pit of her stomach.  She wanted to smack him, o curse him where he stood, but, being down in the damp corridors of the dungeons, she was too deep within Slytherin territory.  "I hope that someday you get what you deserve, Draco," she said menacingly.

            He put a finger on his chin as though contemplating the idea.  "Not likely," he said at last.  "I am a Malfoy, after all.  Anyway, I'd best be leaving.  I wouldn't want anyone to see me speaking with you."  He turned away, walking down a set of stairs off to the let, leaving Hermione very much alone.  In this case, however, she decidedly preferred the company of herself.

*           *           *

            Harry barely glanced up as he caught sight of Hermione walking through the portrait hole after dinner that evening.  Ron had been inquiring everyone he could find as to her whereabouts, but no one seemed to know.  The fact that she had turned up missing was of little concern to Harry.  Hermione had gone too far this time.  It was one thing to keep secrets from people; it was another entirely to assume you had the power to determine their best interests.  That was for parents to decide, but, as Harry angrily reminded himself, all he had was an ill assortment of Aunts and Uncles, all wicked and sinister in their own ways.  He had always had to decided what was best for himself, not them, and certainly not Hermione.

            She looked shaken and bereaved, he noticed as she threaded her way through the throngs of people cluttering the common room that evening.  It was almost as though she were only there in physical form, as though her body were going through the motions without a soul to guide it.  Though he knew it was cold and callous of him, Harry could hardly bring himself to feel for her.  His life had been a living hell since the moment Voldemort had claimed the lives of his mother and father.  Every time he thought the nightmare was over, a new grisly chapter was written.  Over time, he had developed a certain hardness of heart that comes with circumstance.  If Hermione was having difficulty dealing with her role in Harry's dilemma he was certain it was nothing compared to what he was going through.

            "Hermione's back," he said nonchalantly to Ron, hoping to wipe the deepening furrows from his brow that had been present since the end of Potions that afternoon.  He didn't want to tell him, really.  He didn't want Hermione to come over and join them.  He didn't want to have to see her right now.  He felt he owed it to Ron, though, for though he and Ron had had their share of rows, the red head had oft been loyal to the boy with the lightning shaped scar.

            "I reckon you'd rather I went to talk to her in private?"  it was not a question so much as it was Ron asking for permission to change sides, to cross the battlefield and enter into enemy territory.  Harry shrugged slightly, and Ron jumped to his feet.  Harry was slightly wounded by his quick exit, but shrugged it away.  Ron would be back in a moment.  Though, for the moment Harry was none too fond of Hermione Granger, he knew she would do nothing to dissuade Ron from associating with him.  

            He turned back to the game of wizard's chess, calculating his strategy for Ron's return.  A move here, a move there and he could checkmate.  Of course, Ron was too clever at chess to allow Harry to win so easily and quickly.  It was a game of thought, a brutal game where making the wrong judgment often ended in a spectacular spray of stone as the pieces battled and decapitated one another.  

            Just now, Harry saw it as somewhat of a metaphor for his life.  The game had been going well, not perfectly, but he  had been getting on with it.  Then Hermione had made a wrong judgment.  Now he felt as though his heart had been sprayed everywhere.  Though, somewhere deep, deep within him he knew she had meant him no harm and that he was, in effect cursing the messenger, he couldn't bring himself to terms with her, for to do so would mean having to face what was left of his life.  Right now, he stared, fascinated at the shattered pieces of reality lying scattered at his feet, too disheartened to pick them up and put them together yet again.  Instead he waited, and he watched, not really wanting anything, but at the same time hoping for everything.

*           *           *

            Hermione stopped at the foot of the stairs; turning to face Ron who, looking winded, had just appeared behind her.  She smiled slightly.  "How's Harry?"

            "He's fine, Hermione.  He's just having a bit of a snit.  Never mind him, though.  How are you?"  Ron looked deeply concerned, and with good reason.  Gone was the Hermione he used to know.  The bright, vivacious girl he had called his friend was now lost somewhere, deeply embroiled in a battle with demons she couldn't quite conquer.  In her place was a husk and semblance of the thing, still kind, still unequivocally gifted, but no longer the special, brilliant young woman she had been before all of this mess had come about.  Ron knew that she was in there somewhere; it was simply a matter of pulling her out.

            "I'm," she licked her lips, which had suddenly become dry, and started again, "I'm," this time she looked puzzled and scared.  "I don't know what I am."  She hung her head slightly, shoulders shifting forward as though adjusting the burden she carried with her to a more manageable place.  

            Ron didn't quite know what to do.  He wasn't absolutely positive how handle a woman on the verge of an emotional breakdown.  He felt large and stupid standing there next to her, and he cursed himself for being such a bumbling fool with girls.  He stared at her like a deer in the headlights, and she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

            'Are you sure you're quite all right, Ron?"

            "Uh, um, yeah."  He stared at his feet for a moment, as though they had suddenly become rooted to the floor and he was contemplating how to free them.  Suddenly, he brightened a bit.  "Say, would you like to make rounds with me this evening?'

            Hermione almost smiled.  Almost.  "After what happened last time with Harry and Snape?  No thank you."

            Ron looked over where he had left Harry.  The bespectacled boy was staring off into space, an angry expression on his face, paying absolutely no attention to Ron and Hermione.  "I think we could leave him here this time.  We can go, just the two of us."

            This time, Hermione did smile.  "I'd like that."  She leaned forward as though to hug him, then thought better of it.  "I'll meet you here at nine o'clock.  Thanks, Ron."  

            Ron had the feeling she wanted to say more, but nothing further transcended her thoughts to become words.  "Nine o'clock, then," he said, backing away to rejoin Harry.

            Now he had only to find a way to escape Harry Potter.

*           *           *

            Hermione lay upon her bed in her bedchambers, staring at the clock.  She still had an hour and a half before she had to meet Ron.  Idly, she drew open her bedside drawer, her fingers lithely touch _A Wizard's Guide to Writing With the Spirit_, before she thought better of it.  It wouldn't be until tomorrow that she would be able to receive the reply from Sirius, and writing another letter without first listening to his answer seemed like a waste of effort.

            She had asked Sirius about James.  She wondered what he was like when they were schoolmates at Hogwarts.  She wanted to know how much resemblance there was between Harry and his father.  Then she had asked Sirius about Snape.  Though she knew the two had loathed each other in life, she felt that it was possible that Sirius Black, Harry's recently deceased godfather, would be able to give her a bit of insight to the potions master.  She had to understand why Snape had so loathed James.  It had to stem deeper than everything she already knew of; deeper than the jealousy, deeper than the house rivalries, and deeper even than the blood that coursed identically through their veins, though she had been careful to omit this last knowledge on Sirius, for he had never known of the bond between James and Severus in life.  She felt that it was not her place to spread the knowledge to him now, even though he was post-mortem.

            She had desperately wanted to ask him how to handle the situation with Harry, knowing how fond the two had mutually been of each other, but no matter how she had worded the question on the parchment, it had never seemed quite the proper thing to ask, so she had let it slide, supposing that help of that sort was going to have to either come from another source, or stem from somewhere inside of herself.

            Caught up in her wondering, she startled as she heard a soft thumping on the door.  "Come in," she said weakly, certain it would be one of the first or second years girls in search of a makeover or some girl talk with Parvati and Lavender.  Instead, the visitor was for her.  Hermione sat up, resting her back against the eclectic collection of pillows she had acquired while at Hogwarts.  "Ginny, hi.  I wasn't expecting you."

            Ginny looked slightly put out.  "Oh, are you busy?  I could come back at another time if that would be better."

            "No."  Hermione shook her head violently, suddenly desperate for the company of another living human being.  "I didn't mean for you to leave.  I was just surprised you came up here is all.  I don't get very many visitors."  She smiled softly, and chuckled low and short in her throat to make light of the comment.  Though she hadn't intended for it too, it had sounded bitter upon escaping her lips.

            Ginny walked over to an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and plopped down, fiddling with the Wizarding Wireless Network receiver on the dresser adjacent to the chair.  'What's up?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "I never see you anymore.  Not since this summer, at least.  Ever since we came back to school it's like you've been hiding.  You're either in the library or you're up here in your room."

            Hermione shrugged the question away.  "I've always been fond of the library."

            Ginny rolled her eyes.  "You know what I mean."  Hermione said nothing, just hugged her knees and stared forward across the room.  Ginny continued, "tell me what's wrong."

            A tear trailed down Hermione's cheek and she angrily brushed it away.  Breaking down was for the weak.  The salty droplet made her feel inadequate as she stared at the throw covering her feet which depicted the Gryffindor house crest.  "Everything," she whispered softly, her insides burning with the weight of her admission.

            'Do you want to talk about it?"

            "No."

            "Do you want me to stay with you?"

            "If you want."

            Ginny sat in the chair quietly, humming along with the music that spewed through the transceiver.  Hermione breathed deeply and concentrated on the mental control techniques she had studied over the summer after Voldemort had manipulated Harry into breaking into the Ministry of Magic and searching for Sirius.  Though her knowledge had thankfully never been exploited to testing on the battlefield after its abysmal failure against Snape, it had been proving itself somewhat useful over the past few weeks.  Sometimes, it was easier to just push her problems aside.  Some part of her feared, however, that perhaps she had tried to push too much aside and was now reaping the benefits of her minute reprieves in the form of intense and unending psychological pain.

            "Ginny," Hermione said nearly a half an hour of relative silence later.

            "Yes?"

            "Do you think he hates me?"

            Ginny screwed her face slightly as she though about her reply.  Hermione waited in a statuesque posture.  She was in no hurry.  At last the youngest Weasley spoke.  "No, I just think he feels like he has to hate someone.  He can't hate his grandparents, he never knew them.  He can't hate Dumbledore because he was following his father's wishes.  He can't hate Snape, at least not in a way that could hurt him, because he's a teacher.  That leaves you.  He has to hate you, because right now it keeps him from hating himself."

            "He didn't do anything though!  Neither did I, for that matter, or anyone else."

            Ginny held up her hands in mock surrender.  "I know.  He has to figure that out for himself, though."

            Hermione thought on that for a moment, and realized that her younger friend was right.  "Ginny," she smiled, "how did you get so smart?"

            The red head smiled at the praise, taking it in stride "No trouble, really.  With six brothers, I've seen and been in enough rows to know that most of them come about for three reasons: money, the opposite sex, and doing everything possible not to have to hate yourself, even if it means hating someone else instead."

            Hermione sat back and contemplated just how eerily right she was.

*           *           *

            "Ready to go?" Ron asked, tapping his foot impatiently as Hermione approached the portrait hole at one minute after nine.  'I thought you would never show up."

            "I'm only one minute late."

            Ron ignored her, and crawled through the portrait quickly.  This time, Hermione felt a lot lighter about their wanderings.  It was nice to know Harry wasn't tagging along in the invisibility cloak, bring with him a penchant for disaster and mischief.  This time, they would be able to make their rounds in peace, talk quietly amongst themselves, and then head off to bed without having any points deducted from their house for anyone's being inappropriately out of bed after hours.

            "Harry was a bit peeved when I told him he had to stay behind when I made the rounds tonight."  Ron shook his head ruefully.  "You'd think I was going out here to join some wild party or something from the look on his face."

            Hermione didn't know why anyone would want to wander about on the prefect's rounds unless they were a prefect and they had to.  All in all, it was rather a boring aspect of the job.  Whenever a situation did arise, it usually upset Hermione to have to punish anyone.  She did her job the way she was expected to do it, and she did enjoy the perks that went with it, but all in all it was nothing glamorous.  "I don't know why he wants to come all of the time anyway," she voiced aloud.

            Ron shrugged.  "You've got me."  He wanted to say it was because Harry was probably afraid he would miss something if he did not, but Ron was too loyal to voice such an opinion.  Everyone had character flaws, after all, and seeking out danger and trouble happened to be one of Harry's.

            Hermione turned slightly towards him as they rounded a corner.  "How did you manage to persuade him to stay behind."

            Ron coughed slightly, turning red.  "I told him you were coming."

            "Oh," was all she could think of to say.

            They walked on in a silence that was neither comfortable nor truly awkward.  There was nothing and no one lurking about this evening.  Hermione suggested they head back to the tower, and Ron quickly acquiesced, having grown bored with their tour.  Conversation returned, and the two chatted amiably until Hermione saw something that stopped her in her tracks.  "Malfoy," she whispered.

            "What about him?" Ron asked, clearly puzzled.  'I know he's a slimy git, Hermione, but he's a prefect too.  We can't punish him for walking about the corridors.  Too bad," he amended a moment later.  'I would rather love to have Snape give him a detention."

            Hermione quickly relayed to Ron what had transpired following his and Harry's departure from Potions class that afternoon.  She tried to make light of it so as to impede Ron's brotherly instinct of protection.  She wasn't very successful, and Malfoy certainly didn't help.

            "Hello Weasel King, Princess of Failure," he sneered, tuning his nose in the air as though he smelled something foul upon his upper lip.  Ron didn't miss the gesture.

            "What's the matter Malfoy?  Smell the stench of the dark side on yourself?"

            "Ron," Hermione said firmly, grabbing him by the arm, "let's go.  He's not worth it."  Ron, however, did not budge.  This presented Hermione with somewhat of a dilemma.  She could either hex him into submission and drag him away, avoiding trouble but giving Malfoy a veritable treasure trove of new insults to use against him, or she could lower her voice and hope that he would get the subtle point and tone himself down.  She opted for the latter.  "Come on, Ron," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.  'Let's go.  There is absolutely nothing to see here."  She spun on her heel, and Ron started to follow.  They made it three steps away before Malfoy started in on them.

            'That's it, run away.  It' so stereotypical, so fitting.  The mudblood and the champion of muggles turn away from a fight they know they've lost without even so much as showing a little spirit and trying to win."  Malfoy laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound.

            That was all it took, and Ron was beyond control.  "Expeliramus," he bellowed, pointing his wand at Malfoy's heart.  The blond boy opened his eyes wide with surprise as he flew backwards against the cold stone wall of the corridor.  He crumpled to the floor and sat still.

            "Come on, Hermione," Ron said, turning away.

            "Ron," Hermione looked on in horror, "we can't just leave him here.  He could be seriously hurt."

            "He wouldn't care about either one of us."

            Ron had a point, but still Hermione couldn't bring herself to walk away.  It would be one thing to leave him were he conscious and decidedly uninjured, but it was quite another to leave him in his current state of stupor.  Hermione had many times been witness to the havoc and carnage Ron's wand could wreak.  Even the simplest spells had a habit of going awry with the patched together hand me down wand he now held which didn't quite match him, and which energies he couldn't quite channel.  "No, Ron.  If we leave him here, then we're no better than him."

            Ron knew the battle was lost.  "Fine.  We'll use a levitation spell and float him on down to the Slytherin dormitory.  We can knock on the door, deposit him there, and run away.

            "You have exactly one part of that plan correct."  Hermione snapped, her temper all but lost.  "We'll float him to the hospital wing where someone can have a good look at him."

            "I'll get in trouble!"  Ron gaper at her, open mouthed.  "Hermione, please."

            Hermione was torn between doing what was right and doing what she wanted to do.  She didn't want Ron to be in trouble, and she really was not at all fond of Malfoy.  She acquiesced.  "Fine, we'll float him down to Slytherin."  Ron punched the air with glee, "but I want to stay there, hidden, until someone finds him and takes him to the hospital wing."

            "Fine," Ron glowered.

            Hermione performed the levitation spell on him, and he floated eerily door the corridors much as Snape had on the passage from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts beneath the whomping willow back in their third year.  Hermione was far more careful with Draco than Sirius had been with Snape, however, and made certain not to let his head smack into the ceilings, despite Ron's repeated pleadings that it would serve him right.

            Suddenly, a door slammed open to their left.  Hermione hadn't even noticed what part of the castle they were traveling in due to her intense concentration in steering Malfoy down the hallway and had forgotten to urge Ron to be quiet as they passed by Snape's office.

            "What is going on here," the Potions master demanded, looking as though he had just crawled from his bed, yet wearing a pressed and pristine uniform.  'Why is Malfoy lolling about in mid-air?"

            "Uh, he likes it up there?" Ron suggested feebly.  Hermione cringed, wishing he had simply said nothing.

            "He does, does he?  He seems rather bored as though he has fallen asleep."

            "Yeah, that was it," said Ron, inwardly laughing that Snape could be so thick.  Hermione was not laughing.  She knew better.

            "You expect me to be foolish enough to believe such a tale?  Even for a friend of Potter's, your stupidity knows no bounds.  Bring him down at once, Miss Granger."

            Hermione did as she was told, and Snape quickly revived the boy, asking him what had happened.  "They attacked me from behind, Professor."   Draco moaned as though in agony, but Hermione saw him wink, though Snape did not.  "They snuck up on me and attacked for no reason.  I hit the wall, and then I passed out."

            "Liar," said Ron.  He tried to tell Snape his version of the story, which made Draco sound even fouler than he actually had been, but Snape wanted to hear nothing of it.  

            "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and Potter, who is probably lurking about somewhere."  He interrupted himself briefly, turning to Draco.  "Malfoy, did you see Potter?"

            "Yes," Malfoy said, eyes gleaming.  "He was the one that attacked me."

            Hermione snarled, "I thought you said you were unknowingly attacked from behind!"

            "I turned at the last second.  His hideous scar was the last thing I saw before I woke up here."

            "Well," Snape addressed the Gryffindors,  "Did you send Mr. Potter back to Gryffindor tower after the enormity of what he had done sank into your feeble little minds?"

            Hermione wondered how Snape could so easily believe the obviously fabricated story that Draco was spilling forth.  "Harry wasn't with us, sir."

            "I stunned him,' said Ron, suddenly not caring that he had.  So what if he was expelled?  Fred and George, his twin brothers, had done things a hundred times worse and never had to endure any consequences.  

            "Regardless of who did it, as in the past the happy duty of removing you from the ranks of this school does not rest with me.  Three hundred points from Gryffindor.  That's one hundred for each of you, including Potter.  In the morning, the three of you will be paying a visit to the Headmaster, whom I can only hope will have the good sense to expel you."  He turned to Draco "Mr. Malfoy, are you feeling well enough to return to your common room?"

            Malfoy made a great show of rising from the ground where he had been lying as though he were weak and dizzy.  'I think so, sir.  As long as Potter's not roaming the halls rampaging with his wand, I should be able to make it."

            "A simple yes or no will suffice next time, Draco."  The boy pouted slightly, but Snape was unmoved.  He flicked his wrist as though shooing the boy away.  "Get going now."

            Snape turned and headed towards Gryffindor tower, Ron and Hermione following in tow without having been asked.  Hermione waited for the Professor to barrage her mind with his terrifying onslaught, but the assault never came.  _What good is it to be able to read thoughts when you only do it when it suits you?,_ she thought sourly, angry for the first time ever that he was simply ignoring her and all that she was thinking.

*           *           *

            Hermione awoke to a violent shaking from Lavender the next morning.  Parvati hovered at the end of the bed, staring as she brushed her hair.  'Hermione, wake up!"

            Hermione groaned.  She had learned how to live with her two roommates over the past five years.  They liked to wake up hours early and prepare themselves for the school day ahead by applying loads of makeup and perfume, doing up their hair, and making sure their clothes were just so.  Hermione liked to shower and brush her teeth, put on the clothes she had laid out the night before, brush her hair, double check her schoolbag, and head for breakfast.  "'s matter," she asked thickly, sleep distorting her voice.  She peeked at her bedside clock with one eye.  She still had forty-five minutes left to sleep.

            "Something's wrong with the hourglass for the points!  I left my favorite headband in the common room last night.  Just now, I went down to get it, and there are only one hundred and fifteen points left in our hourglass!  When I went to bed last night there were over Four hundred and we were in the lead!  You have to go talk to McGonagall."

            Hermione felt sick as she remembered the events that had taken place last night.  She was certain that after talking things over with Dumbledore many of the points would be reinstated, but that wasn't her major concern right now.  Most important was the issuer of Ron's punishment.  What he had done this time had overstepped the line.  She knew Malfoy had crossed that line as well, but Ron could have seriously injured him.  She knew, too, how powerful Draco's father Lucious was.  She was certain Draco had written a long and embellished letter home last night and that Lucious would be arriving at the school at any moment.

            Lavender and Parvati were obviously waiting for her to say something.  She wasn't quite certain what she should tell them.  Things had gone so awry last night that it was difficult even for her to believe what had happened, and she had been there.  "Nothings wrong with the glass" she said wanly.  

            Lavender's eyes widened.  "What in the name of Merlin went on last night that caused our house to lose three hundred points?"  When Hermione didn't say anything, Lavender prodded at her.  "I know that you know, Hermione.  I'm going to find out one way or another, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather find out from you because it might at least be something close to the truth.  If this had anything to do with Harry Potter…"  She shook her head and clenched her fists, leaving her sentence unfinished.

            Hermione smiled ironically at her.  'That's the funny thing.  This time it had nothing to do with Harry, yet he still got into trouble."  She told the two girls about what had transpired the night before.

            "_Ron_ was able to stun Draco Malfoy?  No wonder Snape believed Malfoy when he said his back was turned.  I know Ron's your friend Hermione, but he's no match for Malfoy."

            "I know," she said.  "Still, though, the way he blamed Harry for it.  He's so unfair.  If any Gryffindor had acted the way Malfoy did, moaning and carrying on as though he were under the crutaceous curse, Snape would have cursed them where they stood."

            "He's rotten," Parvati agreed.  "now what happens?"

            "Ron and I have to see Professor Dumbledore later this morning.  I suppose Harry will have to come too."

            "Dumbledore will straighten everything out," Lavender said confidently.

            "I hope so," said Hermione, who had long ago learned that even if things always worked for the best, it didn't necessarily seem as though they did.

*           *           *

            Hermione felt as though she were going to choke as she headed for Professor Dumbledore's office behind Snape, Ron and Harry sourly following suit.  She wondered if this would be the end of the road for their trio: Ron expelled, Harry despising both her and Snape more than ever, and the trust she had cultivated amongst both the students and staff forever ruined.  All in all, it seemed a very dismal picture.

            Snape was nearly smiled, which for Snape was equivocal to being beside himself with glee.  Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, feeling hatred burn in her stomach.  She couldn't believe he could be so malicious.  She knew that her and Ron had every reason to be marching towards this office.  There was, however, no justification for Harry's presence other than Snape's age-old vendetta against the Potter family.

            Not for the first time, she wondered if things would have been different if William and Mirabelle Potter had simply been able to keep their sons together, or had, at the very least, been forthcoming about their brotherhood.  She knew that they must have been trying to protect Severus more so than they had been James.  They didn't want Severus to feel as though he had been unloved.  Unfortunately, because of the mutual hatred that had seeded itself in the two boys their plan had backfired fantastically.  

            As they paused at the foot of the revolving staircase, Hermione reflected on what Ginny had told her the night before regarding the reasons she believed people engaged in rows.  Maybe both James and Snape had each seen themselves in the other, and maybe they didn't like what they had seen.  She knew it was often true that opposites attract and similarities repel.  Maybe it was because people didn't like having to face the things they disliked about themselves mirrored in someone similar to them.  Perhaps James and Snape both could not hate themselves, and, as Ginny said, they had to compensate by hating someone else.  She would know more tonight, after reading Sirius's reply, but judging from the look in Snape's eye, she wasn't one hundred percent certain there was going to _be_ a tonight.

            She swallowed both her fears and her thoughts as she stepped through the threshold and into the Headmaster's office.  He smiled at the three students and Snape benignly from behind his desk, gesturing for them to take seats opposite him.  Snape remained standing.

            "You may leave now, Severus," he said, gesturing towards the door.

            "If I may remind you, Headmaster, these are very serious charges being presented, and consequences must be wrought."

            Dumbledore continued to smile, "I am aware of that, Severus."

            "Headmaster, if I also may remind you, since their very first day at this school, these three have been allowed to bend and break the rules of this institution at will, all because they are associated with the Famous Harry Potter.  Were they any other students…"

            Dumbledore cut him off, his smile fading slightly, "that will do, Severus."

            Snape opened his mouth as though to protest, thought better of it, sneered at the three students assembled before Dumbledore, and raged out the door, robes billowing about him.

            "Sir, I didn't mean to…"

            "I wasn't even there!"

            "He was provoked!"

            All three started talking at once, and Dumbledore held his hand up to stop them.  "One at a time, please.  Harry, you may begin."

            "I wasn't even there!  I was in bed.  Ron left at nine to go do rounds with her," he pointed down the row at Hermione, not looking in her direction.  

            Ron continued, "Hermione and I left to go do our rounds at nine.  We had been patrolling for about twenty minutes and then decided to go back to our common room.  Then Malfoy showed up.  He started calling name and mocking us.  He practically begged me to fight him."

            "First he called us his usual names, then we started to walk away," Hermione clarified.  "We took a couple of steps, and then he said that it was stereotypical for a mudblood and a muggle lover to walk away from a fight.  Ron lost his temper and he hit Malfoy with a disarming spell.  Malfoy fell backwards and knocked himself out when he hit the wall."

            "I see," said Dumbledore, folding his long fingers on the desk before him.  "What happened then, Mr. Weasley?  Professor Snape told me that he first became aware of the situation as he witnessed Mr. Malfoy floating unconsciously down the hallway."

            "Hermione decided that we couldn't leave Malfoy there.  She didn't want me to get into trouble, so she decided to leave him outside of the Slytherin common room, knock on the portrait hole, and watch to make sure someone saw him there and took care of him.  She performed a levitation spell on him, and she was carefully floating him down the corridor.  I was making a lot of noise, and I must have woken Professor Snape, because all of the sudden he appeared."

            Dumbledore stared idly at them for a moment before continuing.  "I'm certain that it will not surprise you that the version of the story told by Mr. Malfoy is quite different than the one you have just relayed to me."

            No one said anything for a long while.  Hermione stared at her fingernails.  Harry picked at the cushion of his chair.  Ron loudly cracked his knuckles.

            At last, Dumbledore continued.  "I have been teaching and working with young people for most of my long and happy life.  In doing such, I have learned a few things."  Hermione waited for him to tell them what those things were, but as was his mysterious way, he did not.  "Mr. Potter, I grant you one hundred points for sitting through this dull interview unnecessarily."  Harry actually smiled for the first time Hermione had seen in days.  "Miss Granger, I award you one hundred points for a superb levitation spell.  Mr. Weasley, one hundred points for standing up for yourself and your friends, then being able to face the consequences of your actions by truthfully telling me about them."  

            The three beamed at one another.  Hermione could have sworn Harry had even made eye contact with her for a brief moment and actually remained smiling.  "Yes, very good," said Dumbledore.  "However, I do have some points of the other sort.  "Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, fifty points each for the unauthorized use of magic in the halls against another student; Mr. Weasley for your disarming spell, and Miss granger for your levitation spell.  You will both be serving one week of detention with Professor Snape, and will each write a letter of apology to Mr. Malfoy."  Ron opened his mouth as though to protest, but was silenced by looks from both Hermione and Harry.  They had gotten off easily.  Dumbledore, however, noticed.  "Mr. Weasley, if it makes you feel any better, Mr. Malfoy cost Slytherin forty points for his poor behavior towards other students and has to serve one night of detention for exaggeration and dramatics."

            Hermione smiled, and Harry and Ron snorted with glee.  The three of them thanked the headmaster and took their leave of his office.  Snape was waiting for them just outside.  "I took the liberty of having a house elf sent to pack your things, Mr. Weasley.  I assume you will be leaving us at long last?"

            Ron, in what he would later swear was the best moment of his life, said "Leaving?  What are you talking about?  I just got points for cursing Malfoy!"

            What little color there was in Snape's face drained away.  He looked as though he were having trouble standing.  Murder gleamed in his eye.  He took a step forward, and Hermione began to fear for herself and her friends.  He reached for his wand, when suddenly through the office door a voice called, "Severus, may I have a word with you?"

            Snape let his hands drop back to his sides and shot his three least favorite students the nastiest glare he could procure.  "Coming, Headmaster," he said, marching through the doors.

            Hermione, Ron, and Harry fled.

*           *           *

            "Did you see his face?  Ron, that was bloody brilliant!"  Harry clapped Ron on the back as the three neared Gryffindor tower.  The two boys had been going over Snape's reaction to the punishment, or lack thereof, that they had incurred.  Harry, Hermione noticed, was still not speaking to her, though the occasional glances he shot her were wrought with more annoyance than they were dislike.

            The three of them parted ways after passing through the portrait hole.  The boys headed over to a table beneath one of the tower's many windows for a game of wizard's chess, while Hermione bounded up the steps to her room.  She was feeling considerably lighter now, following her meeting with the Headmaster, and the prospect of receiving Sirius's reply served only to further cheer her.  For the first time in a long time, she felt the warmth of happiness within her.

            She glanced around the room after entering and finding it empty pulled the draperies shut around her four-poster.  Quickly, she pulled the book from beneath her pillow and began to rifle through it, her heart thumping faster with each succeeding page.  Every time she turned the pages of the Spirit book she feared the magic it contained would wear away and she would be left with nothing but a bland leather bound volume.  At last, she felt the familiar swirling sensation and her breathing became more even and relaxed.  

            "Hello," the Spirit greeted her, a smile upon his face.  "Back so soon?"

            She smiled sincerely back at him, "I need to read the reply to my latest letter."

            He nodded once reaching into his coat pocket, "of course you do."

            Fingers trembling, she reached for the envelope, clutching it to her palms as soon as contact was made.  She thanked the Spirit and headed for the familiar corner seat, tearing the envelope open on her way.  She read the letter through twice, sighed, and returned it to the Spirit.

            "Did you find what you were looking for?" he enquired in a kindly voice.

            "Not really," she said feeling the hope she had felt just moments ago draining away.  "I wanted some answers, now all I have are more questions."

            The Spirit smiled knowingly at her.  "Perhaps it's better that way."

"Why is that?" she asked, now thoroughly puzzled.

"Well," he smiled, "The peculiar thing about answers is that quite often you don't like what you hear."  He turned from her and walked away, slowly vanishing from sight as though he were nothing more than a fragile wisp of smoke caught by the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

            The moment of happiness Hermione had felt during the return trip from the Headmaster's office had long since vanished.  If anything, she felt more miserable than she ever had before and more alone than she had ever been in her life.  Harry was still pointedly ignoring her, Ron was shrugging apologetically and following his lead, and, since what Snape believed to have been their outrageous escape from justice, the Potions Master's vehemence towards her knew no bounds. 

            Detention with Snape was terrible.  He would lean over her, his hot breath rushing down her collar as she performed any number of mindless tasks to help prepare future lessons.  She tried ignoring him, but he would have no part of her insinuations that he simply did not exist.  He did the same with Ron, as well as trying to play them against each other.  

            "Look at Hermione's roots, Weasley.  You would think that being a pure blooded wizard from a family that dates back generations in our world that you could do a bit better job than a muggle born witch."  Ron would turn as red as hair, but say nothing, busily trying in vein to even out the slices of his roots.

            'Look at Weasley, struggling over the simplest tasks.  If you would stop showing off for once, it would spare him some humiliation."  Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but then furiously turned back to her work knowing there was no point in confronting the Professor.  It would only lead him to take away house points and increase the number of days she would be forced to serve in detention.

            Though both Ron and Hermione knew what Snape was up two, speech between the two of them began to grow more strained as each felt that the absence of the other during their detention periods would make the hours spent in Snape's dungeon far more bearable.  This combined with the ongoing feud between Harry and Hermione gave Ron an excuse not to speak to her at all.

            Now, the three of them were in potions class, still sitting together but no longer talking to one another as they once had.  Harry and Ron chattered on quietly while Hermione bit her lower lip and tended to her cauldron, feigning that their practice of blatant disregard towards her went unnoticed.

            Furiously, she stirred the potion before her, watching Snape through her eyelashes without turning her face upwards as he headed towards her.  She closed her eyes, hoping he would have passed her by when she opened them.  Today, there would be no such luck.  "Miss Granger," he said, blocking her view of the board where the instructions for concocting the potion were posted, "tell me, how many times the muting potion should be stirred counterclockwise after adding the eye of newt?"

            "Seven, sir," she said, not bothering to look at her notes.  She had made a habit of committing the potion instructions to memory; for she never knew when Snape would "accidentally" erase them, leaving the class helpless.

            His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing further, just stood in front of her cauldron, continuing to inhibit her ability to view the board.  She knew he was waiting for her to ask him to move aside, but she did not.  Without looking to any directions, she finished the potion from memory, bottled it in a vial, and turned it in upon the desk, careful to move it towards the center so that it could not be knocked off without a supreme effort by another student.  

            "Showing off again?" he asked her as she returned.

            She hadn't been, he had simply left her with no choice.  Still, she knew there was no point in arguing.  She smiled politely, "as you say."

            She had hoped that simply agreeing with him would lead him to glide away to another student, but it seemed as though he had targeted her for harassment that day.  He looked at her unpleasantly, never averting his eyes.  "Mr. Malfoy?"

            "Yes, Professor?"  Gone was the arrogance so characteristic of Draco.  Instead in the boy's voice there was noting but fealty and obedience towards his head of house.  Hermione felt as though she were going to be sick simply by virtue of witnessing this farce.

            Still, Snape would not look away from Hermione as he spoke to Draco.  "Go to the desk and retrieve Miss Granger's potion.  We will see how capable she is of correctly brewing a muting potion with no assistance from instructions.  If she has done it incorrectly, she will be poisoned.  If she has done it correctly, which is most unlikely, considering its complicated nature, she will not be able to talk for a few hours.  Either way, the results are favorable."  The Slytherins throughout the room laughed.  A few of the Gryffindors looked as though they were considering a protest, but thought better of it with the prospect of their own potions being tested on them weighing over their heads.  They knew that if anyone was likely to brew the potion correctly, it was Hermione.

            Hermione swallowed hard, knowing that she had performed every step with precise exactness.  Still, she wished she could steal just a glance at the board behind the Professor.  It would take her only a moment to know if something had been done wrong.  

            Malfoy handed the vial to Snape.  Snape poured a bit onto a measuring spoon he had extracted from a pocket deep within his robes.  He smiled foully, looking smug and self-satisfied at his latest attempt to deceive her.  Hermione shuddered inwardly.  He was the personification of mean-spiritedness.

            "Cheers, Miss Granger," he said evenly as he handed her the spoon.  Without a second though, she poured the caustic liquid down her throat, deciding that the reason the potion rendered you speechless was that it burned away you vocal cords.

            "Speak, Miss Granger," he said a moment later.  Both he and Draco looked quite disappointed that she hadn't pitched forward dead after ingesting the liquid.  

            Hermione almost smiled.  Now was her chance to say everything she had ever wanted to to Snape without his ever knowing, so long as the potion had worked.  She took a deep breath, certain that the burning in her throat would prevent speech from escaping in any event, and told Snape off.  "You horrible, foul, evil excuse for a teacher.  You should be sentenced to life in Azkanban simply for the merciless way you treat your students everyday.  Too bad you couldn't be more like your brother, or even your nephew for that matter.  You are a sorry excuse for a wizard, and it pains me that I have had to have the displeasure of knowing you.  And you, Draco, are an evil git."

            "Very well," said Snape, who had heard nothing for Hermione's potion had worked perfectly.  He scowled, looking as though Christmas had been canceled.  "You may take you seat."  His lips curled slightly.  "I seem to have forgotten to prepare an antidote, so you will simply have to wit twelve hours for the potion to wear off."

            Hermione didn't mind.  She simply sat back at her desk, covering her mouth with her hand as though she were resting her head and "speaking" freely of Snape, thankful for a chance to vent without the fear of being overheard.

*           *           *

            The next morning, Ginny was waiting for Hermione as she headed out of the portrait hole and down towards breakfast.  "Is it true that Snape made you concoct your muting potion without looking at the directions and then he made you test it out on yourself?"

            "Sort of," Hermione said modestly.  "I did get to look at the board like everyone else up until about the middle of it.  Then he came over and stood in my way."

            "Parvati said she thought he wanted you to have done it wrong so you would be poisoned."

            "I don't know."

            "That's not right, Hermione!  You should tell somebody."  Ginny looked alarmed for her friend.  'What if he does it again, and he switches the bottles?"

            Hermione laughed the question away.  "Ginny, no matter how much Snape hates me, he isn't going to try to kill me.  The only thing he would do is something like he did yesterday.  Even then, unless I had done everything horribly wrong I don't think that that potion could have caused my death before someone would have taken me to see Madame Pompfery.  Snape may be a lot of things, but he isn't a murderer."

            "That we know of."  Ginny looked only partly satisfied, but let it slide.  "I see you and Harry still aren't getting along."

            "No," Hermione said evenly.  "I don't know what to say to him.  Every time I even think about trying to make up with him, he looks the other way or starts talking loudly about disloyal friends who think they know what's best for him.  He's being so stubborn and immature."

            Ginny smiled wanly," do you want me to try to talk to him?"

            Hermione thought on that for a moment, and then warmed towards the idea.  "Would you?  Maybe you can get a word in before he starts tearing me apart."

            Ginny smiled, "I'll do my best."

*           *           *

            "Get out of the way, Malfoy," Hermione ordered as she accidentally crashed into the boy while making her way to transfiguration.  It seemed as though he had appeared out of nowhere.

            "No apology, Granger?" he asked as he brushed off his robes as though she had covered them with something foul by virtue of their brief contact.

            "Move, Malfoy," she repeated, side stepping to go around him.  She didn't feel like playing games with him right now.

            Malfoy stepped in front of her.  It seemed strange to Hermione that in this crowded hallway their confrontation was going on unnoticed by the throngs of students passing by.  He stepped closer to her, trying to intimidate her by getting directly in her face.  "My father was quite disappointed in the disciplinary procedures that Dumbledore used against you and your little band of friends."

            "Was he," Hermione asked rhetorically.  She could have cared less about the how Draco's father felt in regard to the issue.  Being a Deatheater, the man had escaped justice for crimes far more sever than the one committed by Ron and perpetuated by her little more than week ago.

            "Yes," Draco replied as though he felt that she cared for an answer.  "He thought that even Dumbledore would have to be a bit harder than that."

            Hermione glared at him.  "Which version of the story did you tell your father, Draco?  Was it the one you told Snape, or was it the truth?  Perhaps you crafted another one all together, seeing as you were so incapacitated by the shock and pain."

            Malfoy smiled unpleasantly "A pity that you consider such belligerence to be necessary, Granger.  It is not necessary, nor is it wise."  He let that sink in for a moment, and then continued.  "It doesn't matter what I told my father, though the version he received was far closer to the truth than the one I shared with Snape.  I told him how I had involved Potter in the equation even though I knew that Scarhead was nowhere around.  He was delighted."

            Hermione had heard enough.  She knew Malfoy was just trying to intimidate her, trying to make her feel uncomfortable as she walked the halls of the school.  He didn't want her reporting in on any of the Slytherins, and he wanted her to feel that he was free to mildly torture her at will.  She wasn't going to stand for it.  "I said get out of the way, Malfoy.  I have somewhere to be, and you should to."  She moved to go around him again, but again he impeded her progress.

            "First things first, Granger.  I want an apology for your poor behavior last week."

            "I'm sorry Malfoy," she saw his face twist about as he opened his mouth to gloat at her submission, and continued "but, no.  I can't apologize to you unless you take back all of the things that you said about Ron and me."

            Malfoy clenched his fists in fury.  "Have it your way, Granger."  He toyed with the end of his wand as though he were considering cursing her, but though better of committing such an act in a corridor teeming with people, at least one of whom was bound to see him.  "I promise you, though, that I will get revenge."

            He shoved into her as he walked away.  The contact was forceful enough for her to know that it had been nothing if not deliberate.  She rubbed her arm and continued on towards her class, reminding herself to speak with Ron and, to be cautious, Harry about watching out for themselves.  

            She wasn't afraid of Malfoy, but, given the history they all shared, she felt that, in this case, discretion was the better part of the famed Gryffindor valor.

*           *           *

            "He wants you to apologize," Ginny told Hermione later that evening.  'he said that if you admit that you were wrong to keep that secret from him he will consider forgiving you."

            "What?" Hermione said incredulously.  "I have to admit that I was wrong, when I don't think I was so that he can _consider_ forgiving me?"

Ginny nodded, "that's about the gist of it."

Hermione sighed.  "Thank you for talking to him Ginny, but I can see that he's not ready to make up with me yet.  If he were he wouldn't just 'consider' forgiving me."

Ginny looked down, "he's really angry with you Hermione.  Maybe_ you _should try talking to him.  He's just over there plying chess with Ron again.  He says that you and Ron have gotten into a row as well."

"Sort of," Hermione grumbled, remembering that both of her friends had become alienated from her thanks, at least in some part, to Snape.

"Go talk with him," Ginny urged.  "I'll get Ron over here.  He'll mean well, but he'll mess things up for you.  Trust me."  She turned towards her brother, "Oy, Ron.  Come here."

Ron stood to walk over towards the two girls, and Ginny nodded at Hermione who likewise rose and headed for Harry.  She passed Ron on the way, who muttered "this is going to be good."  Hermione ignored him and continued on.

"Harry," she said hesitantly.  It had been weeks since the two of them had spoken directly, and right now even being near him felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Hermione," he replied, his tone not offering her any hope of reconciliation.

She sighed.  "We really need to talk, Harry."

"What's there to talk about?  You'll just lie anyway.  Anything you think I can't handle you'll hide from me."  He turned away from her and stared angrily out the window.

"That isn't very fair Harry," she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking.  She didn't know whether she should be angry or sad.

He looked at her again, his eyes haunted.  "Guess what, Hermione.  Life isn't very fair."

"I know that Harry."

"Do you?"  He asked, turning his full attention to her for the first time.  "Do you really know that Hermione, or is it just something that you vaguely understand because you read it in some book somewhere and it stuck with you?  Did you put it on a flashcard and memorize it like you do everything else, or is it something you have experience with that you could really understand?"

"Harry," she said evenly, trying not to let the desperation she felt creep into her voice, "Everyone whose been alive for any length of time at all understands that life isn't always fair."

"Do they now?"  He asked, sounding as though he were on the verge of explosion.  "Is that something everyone can understand, Hermione?  Can you understand why I would think that life isn't fair?"

"Yes, Harry, I think…"

He continued as though she had not spoken.  "Do you understand how it feels to have your parents killed by Lord Voldemort?  Do you understand how it feels to have to live with an Aunt, Uncle and Cousin how could care less about you unless it's time for you to do something for them and you're nowhere to be found?  Oh, I know, maybe you understand what it's like when they try to keep you from returning to Hogwarts year after year.  How about thinking you have a chance at a happy life with your godfather, then having him taken away not once but twice, once to hide and once to die.  You understand what it's like to find out that Snape is you relative, don't you?  You know how it feels to know that your father and godfather both hated him, yet you share his blood.  I bet that you understand what it's like when one of your best friends knows about this, yet chooses not to tell you because they think it might hurt your feelings.  Instead, they discuss it with Snape himself, then with two of your other friends.  Above all, I'm sure that you understand how it feels to break into your new uncle's office and look into his pensive and discover that not only did he not care about you, his nephew, after his brother, your father, died, he was disgusting enough to be glad that your parents were dead."  Harry's fake smile was sickening, as was his tone of voice.  "You understand all of that, don't you Hermione?"

'Harry, I didn't mean that I know what it's like to be you.  I just meant that we all have our difficulties and we all have to bear them in our own ways and _do what we think is best_."  She emphasized the last part.

He said nothing.

"Harry, I did what I thought wads best.  I never meant for you to find out about Snape being your uncle.  If you hadn't come in to Snape's office to spy on the two of us that night, you wouldn't have known.  I would have never told Ginny and Ron if I didn't know that you already knew!  You know me better than that, Harry!"

His eyes softened for a brief moment, and he appeared to consider her words.  All too quickly, the cold hardness reappeared.  "I don't know anyone anymore, Hermione.  I don't even know who I am."

"Harry, please," she said, her heart reaching out for him.  "try to understand."

"I think you should leave now, Hermione.  I don't really want to talk to you, and I don't want to understand."  He turned his back to her.  "Please, just go."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she said.  She wasn't sorry for keeping the secret about Snape from him.  Instead, she was sorry that he had found out, for the consequences had turned out to be far more dire than she could have ever imagined.  When she had looked into her friend's eyes, she had seen no trace of the resilient Boy Who Lived.  In his place was The Boy Who Was Broken.

"Just go," he whispered.  "You've done enough all ready."

Hermione felt the tears starting to flow and she waved away the concerned looks of the Weasley siblings, fleeing up the stairs to grieve in solitude.

*           *           *

. "Well, that went well," Hermione moaned to Ginny the next morning.  "He hates me."

            "He does not."  Ginny was indignant.

            "He might as well have come right out and said so.  He didn't want to listen to anything I had to say.  All he wanted to do was argue with me and tell me how  didn't understand his life, and how no one else had to bear the burden he does."

            Ginny just looked at her.  

            Hermione sighed.  "It's not that I don't agree with him on some points, Ginny.  It's just…I don't know.  It isn't fair for him to begrudge me for not understanding his life when he doesn't get angry at other people for the exact same thing.  He said no one understands.  If no one understands, then why is he only angry with me?"  She thrust her head into her hands and moaned softly.  "Why is this happening?"

            "Just give him some time Hermione.  He'll come around."

            Hermione looked at her in askance.  "Your assurances are less than assuring."

            The red head shrugged.  "I don't know what to tell you, Hermione.  I know he's being a bit thick, but he'll get over it.  Just be patient."

            "What about Ron, then?"

            Ginny rolled her eyes.  "Ron is being Ron.  He feels badly giving you the cold shoulder, but he doesn't know how to be friends with people who are fighting.  He's just trying to help Harry."

            Hermione felt no better.  It was all rather confusing, really.  She sat back in her chair, pushing her breakfast plate away from her.  She had written to Sirius, and he had been no help to her.  All he had told her was how wonderful James was and what a great greasy prat Snape had been.  She already knew that side of the story.  She had had a morbid sort of hope that perhaps death would have given James's best mate a different perspective on their old arch enemy.  She supposed she should have known better.  Sirius had suggested that she simply curse Snape away and be done with him.  Then there was Snape himself.  It seemed that he, like Harry blamed her for the whole situation, despite the fact that he had already known.  It was as though her act of listening to the Tree's admissions had created the tangled web she was walking through in the first place.  Harry now hated her for trying to do the right thing, and Ron, not knowing what to do, stood by his side.  Ron didn't hate her, she knew, but he wouldn't support her and try to make Harry see reason either.  To top it all off, Malfoy had vowed to exact revenge upon her during their latest encounter.

            Frustrated, she grabbed her sack and stalked away from the table, not sure of where she was going.  She had a later start that day, and was faced now with a two hour free period.  She usually spent the time doing her homework or a bit of random personal research, but all of her assignments had long since been done, and the prospect of pouring over books did not really appeal to her today.  She knew that, right now, trying to find an interesting topic to work on would only leave her mind clear to think of the situation she had inadvertently worked herself into, and right now she didn't feel as though she could deal with such a thing.

            Aimlessly, she wandered the corridors under the pretext of performing her prefect duties.  She was lost in thought when she felt a light tap on her shoulder.  She turned around, suddenly on guard.  Her hand hovered over her wand which she kept hidden within the folds of her robe.  As she turned face to face with her would-be attacker, she smiled.  "Ron.  What are you doing down here?"

            "I could ask you the same thing," he said quietly.  "I saw you wander off after breakfast, and you didn't head for the library or the common room."  He blushed embarrassedly.  "Is everything all right?"

            She wanted to tell him everything she had been mulling over in her head.  For a brief instant, she considered how wonderful it would feel to share her feelings with someone else.  She didn't know that she should, however.  She didn't know what he would say, how he would think, how he would react.  She lied through her teeth.  "Everything's great, Ron."  Her voice sounded cloying, even to her.  She hoped he wouldn't notice and would accept her words at face value.  "I was just looking for students who weren't in class when they were supposed to be."

            Ron nodded, apparently deceived.  "Were you looking for the same person I was?"  he asked mischievously.

            "I…well, I don't really know Ron.  Who were you looking for?"

            Ron looked around, gestured expansively, and rolled his eyes.  "Where are we, Hermione?"

            She didn't know.  She had been so deeply lost in thought that she had simply unconsciously followed her feet where ever they led her to, not paying any particular attention to where she was going.  She took a brief survey.  "I guess we're down on the lower levels somewhere.  It's rather damp and cool down here."

            "Yeah.  You guess."  Ron looked as though he didn't believe a word she was saying, but was intent on humoring her anyway.  "You know as well as I do that we're right by the Slytherin common room.  You know that Malfoy has class this hour, and you want to catch him or one of his lackeys ditching."

            Hermione took the easy out.  "Gosh, Ron.  You're amazing.  How did you know that?"  

            The sarcasm went right past Ron, who coughed slightly.  "Um, that's what I was doing," he said sheepishly.

            "Ron, I don't see him here.  I think we'd better be leaving."  Hermione tugged at his arm slightly, hoping that their contact would urge him on faster.  She didn't want to be down here right now, not with Malfoy burning with desire to settle the score between the three of them, a score which he believed was right now in the Gryffindor favor.  It wasn't that she was afraid of him, for she harbored no trepidation whatsoever of facing him.  She simply wasn't in the mood for a confrontation today, especially not here.  She knew that if Snape were to get wind that she and Ron had been lurking about near the entrance to the Slytherin house some serious problems would defiantly be in the offing

            "Come on, Hermione.  Where's your sense of adventure?" Ron implored her.

            "I left it up in the tower, right next to your common sense.  We can't be seen down here!  Snape could come around at any moment, and what do you think he would say?  You know he would think that we were plotting a way to finish Malfoy off or something else equally terrible.  We have to get out of here.  Now."  She didn't leave him any choice.  She spun on her heel, and stalked off, robes billowing around her.  

            "Hermione," Ron panted struggling to keep up with her, "I don't understand why it was okay for you to be down here, but not for me."

            "It wasn't Ron," she said sharply.  "If each of us had been alone, that would have been one thing.  The two of us together looks suspicious."

            "Oh."  He fell quiet and the only sound she could hear was the thumping of the soles of their shoes against the stone floor of the dungeons.  Hermione could see the steps straight ahead, and breathed a sigh of relief.  She knew that, by now, their proximity to the Slytherin common room was not of the nature that Snape could accuse them of plotting to attack Malfoy or any other Slytherin, but she still would feel better once they had reached the upper and, she always felt, more civilized levels of the castle.  

            She took the stairs nearly two at a time, and continued walking briskly until they had reached the foot of the marble staircase located in the castle's entryway.  "Let's not do that again," she suggested.

            "Spy on Malfoy, or walk like that?"  Ron wheezed, clutching his side.  "I though only running gave you side cramps," he said irritably.

            "Ron, do you really want to serve another detention with Snape?"

            "No.  I don't need that slimy git peering over my shoulder, constantly reminding me that you do everything better than any other student in the castle."  He was still breathing deeply.

            "I don't do everything better than everyone else," Hermione said, wounded by his words but not knowing why.  She had felt a rift between them ever since their shared week of detention with Snape, and had known all along that his attempts to pit the two students against each other were the reason why.  

            "Yes you do."  Ron shrugged.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way.  I know it wasn't your fault.  It was just…I know you wouldn't know, but it's really hard when someone constantly tries to bring you down, and you have to admit to yourself that they have a point."

            Hermione smiled ruefully.  "I know what it's like to have people hate me, though."  She brightened a bit.  "Also, remember when we all started learning to fly."  It pained her to remind him of that day so that he would be able to gloat, but she felt that something had to be said to make him feel better.

            "Yeah."  Ron laughed, his hard feelings apparently gone or at least buried for the moment.  "You were so mad because you couldn't get the broom to do what you wanted it to.  I was sure you had probably spent weeks studying how to fly, and then you couldn't even get a hold of the broom."

            He was right, she had spent a considerable amount of time preparing for their first flying lesson, and it had come as nothing but a huge disappointment.  "It wasn't that funny," she said, slightly wounded."

            "Yeah it was," Ron snorted.  "That and when you saw the bogart of McGonagall, and it told you that you had gotten all failing marks for the semester."

            "Ha ha," Hermione said, growing more annoyed by the moment.  She wished that she hadn't tried to brighten his day.

            Ron slapped her on the back and she looked at him reproachfully.  "Sorry," he murmured, blushing.  "It was just sort of fun thinking about all of those times.  You have to admit, Hermione, you really do seem perfect."

            "I do not," she argued.  "I just try to do the best I can at everything.  I can't help it if other people don't."

            Ron shook his head, and changed the subject.  "Say, how was your chat with Harry last night."

            "Terrible," she said, this time not bothering to lie.  The walked towards the double doors which led to the outside grounds.  Hermione checked her watch.  They had forty-five minutes before History of Magic, growing more annoyed by the moment.  She wished that she hadn't tried to brighten his day. 

            "Oh," Ron replied.  "He didn't say anything about it to me, so I sort of assumed that nothing had changed."

            "If anything, things have gotten worse," Hermione said morbidly.  "I just don't know what to say to him.  Everything I tried to get across he blocked off.  He interrupted me every time I tried to make a point, and the things he said were so pitiful and sad that I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.  He wouldn't even let me do that, though.  He just wanted me to leave."

            "Oh."

            "I don't know what I should do.  I don't want to fight with him anymore, but everything I do seems to make him hate me more.  I don't know how to work things out without us coming to loggerheads."

            "Oh."

            She turned and glared sharply at him.  "Can't you say anything else?" she snapped.

            He shrugged.  "What is there to say?"

            "What do you think I should do?"  She stopped and sat down at the foot of an old oak Tree, throwing stones into the lake with a sour expression upon her face.

            "I don't know, Hermione.  You really hurt him."

            "I did it for his own good."

            Ron held up his hands as though she were charging and he was intent upon stopping her.  "I know that.  Maybe you didn't go about it the right way, though."

            She glared harshly at him, "What do you mean I didn't go about it the right way?  What other way was I supposed to go about it?  What could I have done differently than I did?"

            "You could have told him."  Ron lowered his face, staring at the ground and picking apart a leaf, not daring to meet her eyes.

            She exploded.  "How many times do I have to explain why I did what I did?  Isn't it obvious to anyone except me that no one wanted Harry to know that he was related to Snape?  Why does everyone hate me for happening to be the one to discover that stupid Tree and listen to it?  I didn't want to know that Snape is Harry's uncle anymore than Harry did, and I certainly didn't want to keep it a secret from him because I wanted to hold it over his head or something.  If Snape were my uncle, I wouldn't want to know!"  She could feel tears forming in her eyes, and she angrily scrunched her eyelids together, trying not to let them escape.  She would not cry.  Damn it, she would not cry.

            Ron was growing angry too, she could tell from his tone of voice when he next spoke.  "Maybe you should have asked me what to do.  I'm Harry's best mate, you know.  If I wasn't good enough for you, you could have at least asked Dumbledore.  I'm sure he's high and mighty enough for you to associate with, even with your superior brainpower.  Of course, you're too good to do that.  You had to sort it out for yourself, and you had to figure out what was best for you to do all on your own, so you could show everyone else that you were better and smarter than them.  You probably didn't want to tell Harry because, if it slipped out, years later, you wanted everyone to say how wonderful you were for holding that secret inside all of that time

            Hermione stood up, and Ron did them same so they were standing toe to toe.  "What are you talking about?  I didn't tell you because I knew that if I did you would run off and tell Harry!  I didn't want Dumbledore or Snape to know that I knew!  It had nothing to do with me wanting to be a martyr of some sort.  Why is it that everyone has to be so ridiculous all of the time?  I care about Harry!  If I _didn't_ care, I would have run to him straight away and told him everything I knew.  Instead, I did what I could to try and make the best of a bad situation.  Unfortunately, it blew up in my face."  She looked as though she were going to strike him, but she simply stood still staring him down, waiting for him to look away or break.

            Ron stared back, his eyes filled with rage.  His face was red and his hands trembling.  "Not used to that are you?  Having things go wrong is something new for you, I suppose?"

            "Oh Ron, shut up," Hermione spat, having reached the end of her patience.  "Why can't you stop listening for what you want to hear for just a moment and listen to what I'm actually saying?  I care about Harry.  I never wanted to hurt him.  I thought that I did what was best."  Again she felt the tears welling.  She had already lost Harry as a friend forever it seemed, she didn't want to lose Ron as well.  All the same, she couldn't let him stand there lying about her intent straight to her face.  

            Ron stopped shaking.  He moved as though he were going to walk away, but suddenly appeared to be rooted to the spot.  After a moment, the color drained slightly from his face.  At some point, he had drawn his wand but now it hung limply next to his leg.  It had been lowered slowly, but it was lowered.  He breathed in deeply, and Hermione could feel herself settling as well.  For a moment, there was nothing but silence.  Hermione felt completely drained, both physically and emotionally.  Still, somehow, she felt a bit better.  It was as though everything had been bottled up inside of her and was killing her from the inside out.  Now it was all exposed to the open air.  Perhaps this latest row had actually done her a bit of good, she reflected, so long as it had not irreparably destroyed her relationship with Ron.

            At last Ron broke the silence.  "You're right, Hermione.  Forget I said it."

            Still, the pique inside of her had not completely cooled.  This time, though, her words were heavy and laden with sadness instead of anger.  "I'll never forget you said it."  She paused a moment, and his face distorted in disgust.  Ron looked as though he were going to give up and walk away.  "Wait."  Hermione said, stopping him in mid-turn.  "You're right.  I'm sorry too."

            Ron turned back to her, holding out his wand hand.  "Friends?" he said tentatively, as though he were unsure of what her answer might be.

            She smiled brightly.  "Friends.  Always."  She firmly grasped his hand with her own, shook it slightly, and pulled him to her in a tight embrace.  Quickly, she pulled back, noticing Ron had awkwardly returned the gesture.  His face was red.

            He coughed slightly.  "Look at the time.  I guess we should be heading in.  I don't want to be late for Professor Binns's class."  He looked at her with what she could only describe as shyness and headed back towards the castle. 

            "What's the matter with you?"  she asked.  

            "Nothing," he said, still walking without looking directly at her.

            "Why won't you look at me?"

            "Sun's in my eyes when I look that way."

            She knew that was a lie, as the sun was behind his head when she turned to face him, but she let it slide.  They walked through the double doors of the castle together, still not talking, and ran straight into Professor Snape.  "Mr. Weasley.  Miss Granger.  What were you doing outside just now?"

            "Walking, sir," Ron replied.  Hermione could hear the bitterness in his voice as he spoke to the Potions Master.

            "How interesting," Snape said deprecatingly.  "It looked to me as though you were embracing.  I suppose that my eyes must be deceiving me, as you say Mr. Malfoy's were when Mr. Potter attacked him."

            Hermione stepped forward.  "We had a row, Sir.  We were just making up."

            "Oh," Snape said.  "How lovely for you.  Ten points from Gryffindor."

            "What?"  Ron said, eyes blazing fury.  "I suppose they take away points down in Slytherin for making up after fighting?"

            "Your tendency towards insubordination knows no bounds, does it Mr. Weasley?  Though the practices of my house are none of your business, I can assure you that we do not remove points from our hourglass when students simply make up after having it out with one another.  It is, however, my duty to take away points for a public display of affection."  He smiled malevolently.  "A further ten points for your use of sarcasm."  Snape glided away towards his dungeon.

            "How can he take away points for using sarcasm? Ron asked sourly.  "If he tried to speak sincerely, he wouldn't even be able to."

            "Never mind," said Hermione, "Let's go."  She started walking again, and was halted in her tracks by a noxious voice.

            "Going somewhere, Weasel King, Granger?"

            "Malfoy, mind your own business," Hermione snapped.  

            "I couldn't help but overhear," he smirked.  "So, it's happened at last."

            "What's happened at last, Malfoy," Ron snarled, Hermione could see his hand moving towards his wand and stiffened with alarm. 

            "The King has found his Queen."  He turned towards the staircase onto which students were beginning to pour following their morning classes and cupped his hands over his mouth.  "Attention everyone!"  Malfoy shouted, trying to be heard over the din.  "May I present to you The Weasel King and his Mudblood Queen!"  He turned and pointed to Ron and Hermione, who both blushed beet red.

            "Shut up, ferret boy," Hermione hissed.

            "What's the matter, Weasley?"  Malfoy crooned.  "Too scared to use your big bad wand when people are watching?"

            "Or perhaps," said a sharp female voice, "He has too much sense to illegally perform magic on another student while passing through the hallway."

            "Uh, Professor McGonagall."  Malfoy looked as though he were going to choke, but quickly righted himself.  "I was just telling everyone that Weasley and Gran…I mean Ron and Hermione," he looked as though he were going to be sick simply from speaking their given names, "had become a couple."

            "Really," said McGonagall, looking not at all impressed.  "Come along Mr. Malfoy, you have a punishment to receive."  She turned to a group of onlooker.  "Move along now, there's nothing to see here."

            She headed off down the hallway, a furious Malfoy in tow.  Once they were out of earshot, Ron began to laugh.  "Did you see his face, Hermione?  I wish Harry could have been here to see that.  It was brilliant!"  He wiped tears away from his eyes.

            Hermione even had to smile, though already she was formulating a plan to elicit something akin to damage control.  She could only imagine how fast Malfoy's words about her and Ron would be spreading through the school.

            Suddenly, they were joined by another figure.  "Harry!"  Ron's cheer spread visibly across his face.  "Did you see that mate?"

            "Which part?"  Harry asked, his voice wavering between gloom and good spirits.  "The part where you and Hermione were being punished by Snape or the part where McGonagall finally took care of Malfoy."

            "Uh, the last part," said Ron, his face growing redder.  "Harry, I don't know what you overheard when you saw us getting punished by Snape, but what he saw isn't what he thought he saw.  I mean it was.  Well, that is to say, we were hugging, but it wasn't anything…"

            "It wasn't a public display of affection," said Hermione.  "It was a public display of reconciliation."

            "Oh," said Harry.  He looked as though he would have rather pretended Hermione wasn't there.  Taking her cue, she grew quiet and listened to the two of them discuss possible outcomes of Malfoy's punishment from McGonagall.  As they talked, she could feel the sadness welling up within her once again.  Something was going to have to give.

*           *           *  
  


            "Thanks a lot, Granger," Malfoy said stopping beside her table as the rest of the students filed in for the afternoon's Potions lesson.  

            "I don't know why you're angry with me, Malfoy," Hermione said, not even affording him a glance as she unpacked her bag, "I didn't put a spell on you and force you to shout out those lies about Ron and me in the entryway this morning.  If you are wanting to thank someone, you needn't look any further than yourself."  She heard him mutter a profanity under his breath and move on, taking his seat a row forward and to the left of her own.  Only then did she look up and read the day's project from the board.  Vertiserum.  Instantly, alarm klaxons began sounding in her head.  Snape requesting them to concoct a truth serum could only lead to trouble.

            Apparently, many other students had similar thoughts, though their unease was most likely caused by the complicated nature of the potion rather than the likely uses of it.  Aside from the polyjuice potion Hermione had brewed during her second year to turn Ron, Harry, and herself into members of the Slytherin house in an attempt to gain information about the Chamber of Secrets from Draco Malfoy, this would be the most difficult potion she had ever attempted.

            She read over the instructions three times, after painstakingly going through the list of ingredients.  Voicing Hermione's silent doubts aloud, Parvati spoke, "Please, Sir, this potion takes six hours to brew, and must be constantly watched and stirred during that time.  This class only lasts for two hours."  Murmurs of assent rippled through the classroom, along with muted pronouncements of shock from those who had not bothered to read all of the instructions before beginning.

            "How very nice to see that at least a few of my students can read," Snape said neutrally.  "Miss Patil, you will be pleased to know that I have arranged with the headmaster for my final potions class of the day, which would, incase you were unaware be this class, to stay an extra length of time in order to assist me in the creation of a large quantity of Vertiserum."  

            "But, Sir," Harry spoke out, "some of us have other things to do after class.  I have quidditch practice, and so does Ron!"

            "Ah, yes," Snape looked unmoved as he spoke, "A pity to have to miss that, seeing as the Gryffindor team needs all the help it can muster."  He turned away and sat pouring over spell books at his desk, signaling that the question and answer session had come to a close.

            "This is so unfair," Hermione heard Draco Malfoy vociferating.  'Wait until my father hears about this."  She tuned him out, holding little doubt that, were the offending professor any other than Snape the blond boy would have simply left the classroom straight away to inform his father of the assumed indiscretion.  Seeing as it was his head of house, however, he chose to bear the brunt of his punishment now and retaliate for it later.

            She worked diligently over her assignment, never wavering in her concentration.  Though she did not relish spending any more time than was necessary in Snape's dungeons, she couldn't help but be grateful for the diversion her exacting task had provided her with.  There was no time for thought, as she stirred and fussed over her cauldron timing and counting in an endeavor to create a perfectly colorless and tasteless substance from a variety of ingredients that each had its own unique hue and flavor.

            At last the small timer on her table went off and she turned the fire beneath her cauldron off and swiftly poured the contents into a nearby basin, not wanting the mixture exposed to intense heat for even a moment longer than was prescribed.  From this, Hermione filled several small vials with truth serum, and stepped forward to present them to the potions master.  He bid her to return to her seat. 

            A few minutes later, everyone in the room had completed the brewing of the potion.  The students fidgeted in their seats, anxious to escape their prison and return to the comfort of their common rooms, the school's dinner hour having already since passed.  "I am told," Snape glowered, "that a late meal will be prepared in the great hall for those who would like to partake."  Several students carefully pushed their chairs back, trying not to destroy their hard labor in their haste to exit.  Hermione felt certain that she could hear Ron's stomach growling at him, as she felt her own tighten with pangs of hunger. "Stay where you are," Snape admonished, stifling the class with a nasty glare.  "Before you may take your leave, each of you must sample your potion.  Line up single file in front of my desk." 

            Ron clamored to be near the front of the line, but Hermione held him back, hissing, "We need to be at the end, Ron.  He might let people leave after they test their potions.  I don't know about you, but I would rather not spill my heart before the entire class."  

            Ron looked dubious, but he was moved by, to Hermione's astonishment, Harry, who was actually agreeing with her.  "Hermione's right, Ron. I'm going to the back of the line."  Ron shrugged and followed, though by this point the rest of the class had lined up and there wasn't really an alternative course of action.

            "Glad I decided to move to the back of the line," Ron announced a few moments later.  "Wouldn't want to be one of those poor blokes up front."  Hermione rolled her eyes, and her heart leapt as she saw Harry do the same, and actually spare a brief grin for her.  The feeling of joy quickly left her, however, as she cast a look about the classroom.

            "Ron, Harry, I hate to inform you, but we didn't quite manage to be the last in line."  She nodded to the left of their usual seats.  Draco Malfoy looked up and waved with a sinister smile upon meeting her eye.

            "Bloody hell," Ron admonished, stomping his foot for emphasis.  "I was last!  Last!  I didn't even want you or Harry to have to hear my answers.  I'd rather the whole rest of the class hear everything I ever had to say than let that prat be the one to listen in on Snape questioning me."

            "Who cares about that," said Harry "What if something about the Order comes out?"

            "I'm sure that even Snape has brains enough to not ask questions that would lead to the discovery of the Order," Hermione said.  Harry scowled at her, and any renewed sense of warmth she had felt towards him quickly vanished.

            The line rapidly grew shorter until just the three of them and Malfoy were left in the room with Snape.  "Mr. Weasley," said Snape.  "Please, step forward and bring your vial with you."  Ron glowered and did as he was told, muttering that it was impolite to cut in line, and that Harry and Hermione had clearly been stationed in front of him.  

            Snape ignored Ron's chattering, and took the vial from him, holding it up to the light to examine it.  "Your Vertiserum appears to be somewhat opaque, Mr. Weasley."  He held the bottle to Ron, who visibly gulped, and swallowed some down quickly.

            Snape began his interrogation.  "What does it taste like?"

            "Nothing," said Ron, his pupils dilating slightly, and his skin growing pale and sweaty.  He looked as though some outside agent had seized him, though his trance was not nearly so lucid as that normally wrought by truth serum.  He seemed as though he were in mild physical distress.

            "What is your name?"

            "Ronald Weasley."

            "How many people are in your immediate family?"

            "Nine, including myself."

            "What are three ways to best describe your family?"

            "Red hair, loving, poor."

            Hermione thought the interview might be stopped at that point, as it was obvious that Ron's Vertiserum had managed to work despite the profuse sweating it generated.  Though the three adjectives he had chosen did accurately describe his family, she knew that he would have never uttered the last in the presence of either Malfoy or Snape without being under the influence of truth serum.  He had far too much pride to so belittle himself, no matter how true his words might be.  Snape, however, continued.

            "What position do you play on the Gryffindor quidditch team?"

            "Keeper."

            "Do you think you make a fair keeper?"

            "When I can control my nerves." 

Malfoy snickered in the corner, and Snape stopped interviewing Ron for a moment.  "Please, Draco, reserve your humor for another time."  The Professor turned back to Ron.  'What were you and Miss Granger fighting about this afternoon?"

            "Harry Potter."

            "And did you reconcile your differences?"

            "Yes."

            "Did you and Miss Granger embrace by the lake shore?"

            "Yes."

            Snape came as close to smiling with glee as he ever had.  "Do you have affectionate feelings for Miss Granger?'

            Before Ron could answer, Hermione stepped forward, knocking him from the stool and shaking him out of his trance as she did so.  "That's enough, Professor," she objected.  "I think it is quite plain that Ron's potion works adequately."  She was glad to have spared Ron the humiliation of professing or denying his feeling for her with Draco Malfoy as witness and, in her heart, she wasn't sure that she could bear his answer, one way or another.

            "I believe that the quality of Mr. Weasley's work is for me alone to decide, Miss Granger.  However, rather than waste the potion to being the interview anew, I will have to use what little evidence of success I have been allowed to gather.

            Ron seemed unperturbed by this declaration as Snape shooed him from the room.  He mouthed a thank you at Hermione, who nodded in acknowledgement.  "Draco, please step forward."

            "Sir, I was last in line," Draco protested, sulking and refusing to move.

            "Step forward, Draco," Snape repeated as though he had not spoken earlier.  Draco did not move.  "Step forwards and ingest you Vertiserum or receive a grade of zero for the assignment, which constitutes thirty percent of your grade."  Snape spoke in the same neutral tone he always used, making it plain that he cared little for Draco's protest, and would not object to giving him a failing mark were he to ignore the conditions Snape had set forth.

            Sneering, Draco stepped forward.  "If I hear anything about what I say in here, I'll know who was going about spreading rumors,' he glared at Harry and Hermione.  Harry clenched his fists slightly, but Hermione sighed in relief.  She was glad Malfoy wouldn't be listening to her unwilling confessions.

            Snape asked Draco nothing more than his name, what house he was in, and what mark he had received on his last Divination examination.  Apparently Draco was not quite so bright at fortune telling as he was in other areas of study, and Hermione was certain that his potion had worked, for he could have never otherwise professed to failure in the presence of two of his three most hated peers.

            "Mr. Potter," Snape said, looking directly into the boy's green eyes.  "Hand me your vial."  He held it up to the light.  "Surprisingly, you have proven yourself somewhat adept at this foray into potion brewing.  You potion is colorless.  Let us see, however, if it works.  Then we shall see if you had any help."  

            "I didn't," Harry snapped.

            "We shall see," said Snape.  "Drink up now."  Harry poured the liquid down his throat and then took a seat on the stool beside Snape's desk.  The professor wasted no time in beginning his interrogation, asking Harry any number of mindless questions before starting to tear him apart.  "Did you know about the blood shared between you and I before the night you spied on Miss Granger and me in my office?"

            "No."

            "How did that knowledge make you feel?"

            "Angry."

            "Who were you angry with?'

            "You.  And Hermione."

            "How do you feel now?"

            "Angry."

            "What would you think if I told you I felt much the same way when I discovered that James and I were brothers?"

            "I wouldn't believe you."

            "Why?"

            "Because you should be happy to be related to a great man like my father."

            "Would you believe me if I told you your father was not a great man?"

            "No."

            "Why do you think I hate your father?'

            "You're jealous of him."

            "Why would I be jealous of him?'

            "Because he was better than you in every way."

            "Why are you angry with Miss Granger?"

            "She didn't tell me that you were my Uncle."

            "Are you still angry with her?"

            "Yes."

            Hermione hoped that Snape would ask Harry if there was any possibility that the two of them would reconcile their differences, but the professor was too clever to give her such hopeful information.  He waved his wand over Harry, restoring him to his original state and sent him away from the room, leaving him and Hermione alone.

            "How interesting," Snape said, nodding towards the closing door.  "To think that one afternoon spent under a Tree could do so much damage."

            "That wasn't a normal Tree, and you know it," Hermione spat, handing him her potion, which he didn't even bother to examine for clarity.  

            "Swallow," he said simply.

            "Are you even going to look at it?" she asked, perturbed that all of his evidence of her performance was to come from the impending interview.  She saw it, along with the fact that Snape had purposefully forced her to remain until the last, as nothing but a bad omen, which could only serve to make the interrogation longer and more personal.  

            "Need I?"  She ignored the question, and swallowed the liquid down, sitting upon the stool.  She felt herself growing light headed, and she seemed in state between that of slumber and waking.  Through her haze she could hear Snape's silky voice.

            "What is your name?"

            "Hermione Granger."  Though she would have answered this question anyway, she felt a sense of doom sink about her.  She had been compelled to speak by some force deep within her.  She wouldn't have been able to stop herself had she tried.  To her, it felt rather like being under the Imperious curse, as Professor Moody had demonstrated during their fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.  She though perhaps to fight it, but the effects made her so sleepy she found even this faint desire rapidly waning away.

            "Why did you speak to that infernal Tree?"

            "I was curious about wizarding genealogy."  Suddenly, it seemed so easy to speak.  It was as if some other force were shaping her mouth for her even.  Her thinking had become exact, and the terms with which she spoke concise and direct.  She felt as though she were not even speaking, but knew that the sentiments and truths she shared with the interrogator were her own.

            'Why didn't you just ask a member of the Order?  I'm sure that there must have been someone around who would have been able to answer any of your questions."

            "I wanted to gather information from a reliable first hand source.  When people tell stories, they often get them confused."  She tried to stop herself from speaking, but she could not.  She wanted nothing more than to tell Snape, who was leering at her from beneath his greasy curtain of hair, to mind his own business, but it seemed she could do nothing but answer the questions as they were presented to her.

            "How did you feel when you found out that Harry Potter was my nephew?"

            "Sick."  Hermione would have blushed, but she seemed unable to.  The word she had spoken sounded spiteful to her, and she was sure that, haven been given the opportunity, she would have chosen a more eloquent and less malevolent way of phrasing the answer.

            "Indeed."  Snape's upper lip curled slightly, as though he smelled something foul upon the air.  "Why did you keep the information to yourself?"

            "I didn't want Harry to find out.  I didn't want anyone to know that I knew."

            "Why not?"

            "Because I knew that you would harass me, as you did and continue to do."  Again, she felt a wash of shame.  Though she harbored nothing more than dislike for the Potions Master, she knew there had to be a more diplomatic way of engaging in this conversation.  Thinking how he had, however, brought it upon himself, her doubts quieted somewhat.

            "Did you know that Harry Potter was in the room with us the night he overheard our conversation?"

            "No."  

            Snape seemed to consider this a moment, frowning slightly.  It was clear to Hermione that he had wanted her to answer, "yes" so that he could be further enraged by her actions.  At last, the professor continued, "Did the Tree tell you anything else that night?"

            "Nothing of any importance."

            "Are you certain?"

            "Yes."

            Snape looked at her with utmost contempt, seeming to stare nearly through her.  "You asked after no one except Harry Potter?"

            "No."

            "The Tree did not continue its tales regarding the Potters?"  He practically spat the last word.

            "No."  She was growing frustrated, though the voice she spoke through was as languid as when the interview began.  Why did he keep asking her the same question simply rephrased time and again?  She would have asked him, but here he was the interrogator and she could do nothing save respond.

            "Very well then," he said, perhaps sensing that he was getting nowhere.  He waved his wand before her face, and she felt her faculties returning.  Quickly, she gathered her books, anxious to take her leave of the classroom and head for Gryffindor tower where she could mull over what had been said.  

*           *           *

            "What did he ask you, Hermione?'  Ron questioned her as she sat down for dinner in the great Hall, having been lured away from her intended rest by the delicious aromas wafting down the dungeon staircase.

            "He kept asking me about the Tree that I spoke to this summer.  He wanted to know if I listened to stories about anyone other than Harry.  He seemed quite intent on finding out that I had."

            "Did you?"

            "No," she answered solemnly.  "That Tree gave me the creeps.  After it told me more than I ever wanted to know about Harry's family, all I wanted to do was leave it and never look at it again."

            She continued eating in silence, listening to Ron and Harry chatter on about the unfairness of missing quidditch practice so that they could lighten Snape's workload by brewing a huge batch of potion for him.  "He probably couldn't even use half of it," Harry glowered.  "Imagine, taking a truth serum prepared by Goyle."

            "His was black," Ron confirmed, "and when he swallowed it, something that looked like tar came pouring out of his nose.  I don't think he could even speak, much less tell nothing but the truth."

            Hermione cut in.  "Why does he need all of that Vertiserum, though?  Don't you think it's a bit odd that he would have a use for that much of it?"

            "He probably doesn't," Ron said, his cheeks burning with the memory of his earlier interview with Snape.  "He probably just wanted to make us spill our guts to the whole class."

            "He has to need it for something," Hermione said, giving Ron a reproving look.  "He wouldn't waste all of those ingredients on his own pleasure."

            "It's probably for something he's doing for the Order," said Harry.  "Some secret spy thing."  He turned back to his food, moving it about his plate but not really eating anything.

            Hermione pushed away from the table, slinging her pack over her shoulder.  Ron and Harry followed suit, heading for Gryffindor tower.  Hermione felt the best thing she could do right now was sleep on all of her questions until morning.

*           *           *

            Some days later, Hermione was chatting with Ginny over breakfast when a letter dropped into Ginny's orange juice.  "Stupid owl," she murmured as she stroked the Weasley family post owl, Errol on top of his head.  "His aim is terrible."  The red head shook as much orange juice as she could from the outside of the envelope, and carefully tore the seal open.  "Oh," she exclaimed, her face brightening, "It's a letter from Mum."

            "What does it say," Hermione asked, eager to hear any news from the Order.

            "She's asking us all, that means you and Harry too, to come to Grimwald Place for Christmas this year rather than remaining at Hogwarts."  Ginny turned to her with a slight frown upon her face.  "Did you already have plans for the holidays?"

            "No," Hermione answered, smiling.  "I'm glad to be invited.  My parents are going to a dental convention at the beginning of December, and they wanted to make an extended holiday of it.  The only thing stopping them was their guilt for leaving me at school."

            "Hermione," Ginny said turning deadly serious.  "What about Harry?"

            "What about him," Hermione asked.

            "Well, I know you too have been fighting all this year.  I don't want Christmas to be ruined for both of you because you're forced to be together when you don't want to be."

             "I think perhaps spending the holidays together would do the two of us some good.  Maybe things can go back to normal.  I could show Harry the Tree and prove to him once and for all the sort of power it possesses."  Hermione opened her mouth to continue, but Ginny cut her off.

            "I don't think that that is a very good idea, Hermione."

            "Why not?"

            "I think we should just stay away from that thing.  Who knows what kind of damage it can do.  Look at how much everything has changed just because you spent a few hours talking with it over the summer."

            Hermione said nothing, just stared broodingly into her glass of pumpkin juice as though expecting it to converse with her.

            Ginny sighed, pushing away from the table.  "Anyway, you're more than welcome to spend the holiday with us.  Think about what I said though, Hermione.  You can't get back what you lost, you can only lose what you have."

*           *           *

            "Harry!  What are you doing here?"  Hermione exclaimed as she dropped her load of study materials on one of the back tables in the library.  She always chose to sit as far away from the door, and any other possible sources of distraction, as possible.

            "I was just doing a bit of research," he said, carefully sliding the book he had been reading beneath the table so as to conceal it from her view.

            "Oh," she said, her eyes brightening.  Though they had been fighting throughout the year, Harry's sudden maneuver into her part of the world piqued her interest.  She was filled with a million questions.  "What are you looking for?"

            "Nothing," he murmured, pushing away from the table.  "I'd best be leaving.  Quidditch practice in an hour, you know."

            "Harry, wait.  I could help you, you know."

            "No thanks," he said, his voice suddenly growing colder as he turned away from her, placing the book amongst many others on a cart at the end of one of the shelving units.  Hermione waited until she was certain he had left the library, and crept over to the cart, her curiosity quelling all desire she had for completing her homework.  She lifted the book away from the others and returned to her table, carefully reading the title page.  _Purity of Blood_ looked more like something Draco Malfoy would be interested than reading material for Harry Potter, with its introduction as to how the blood of wizard kind should remain pure and its remarks about purebloods who had gained power, and those who had disgraced the wizarding world through their relationships with muggle-borns.  Hermione flipped through the pages, quickly finding that the book was more an anthology of genealogy than it was a means of exalting blood merely by virtue of its purity.  She decided the introduction was somewhat ambiguous and completely biased.

            Skimming through, she came upon the Potter family.  As she expected, there was no mention of Professor Snape.  An "x" at the end of the entry denoted that the pure line ended with James, for Harry's mother, Lily, had been muggle born.  She continued to flip through the yellowing pages, coming upon the entry for the Snape family, whom Severus was listed as a legitimately carrying the blood of, and as the sole remaining member of.  There was an asterisk at the end of this entry.  She turned back to the page that decoded the various symbols used throughout the book, and was shocked to find that this signified his serious involvement with a pure, female member of the wizarding world.  Intrigued, she turned to the title page again.  The copyright date was 1983.  It had not been that long ago.

            She returned to the entry, hoping that there was more information regarding who the mysterious pureblood woman was, but nothing presented itself.  Quickly, she replaced the book in the reshelving cart and stowed her study materials away, all thoughts of schoolwork forgotten.  She had another letter to write.


	6. Chapter 6

"So, what you're saying is that Professor Snape was actually capable of loving someone at some time?"  Ginny looked at Hermione incredulously as the older girl began to tell her friend the story of everything that had happened in the week since she had found Harry leafing through Purity of Blood in the Hogwarts's library.  The two were sitting side by side on the upper deck of the Knight bus, a form of wizarding transportation which would drop them off in Muggle London.  From there, they would journey on foot in two groups, Ron and Harry then Ginny and Hermione, to Grimwald Place for the holidays.

            "The book didn't say anything about him loving the woman, Ginny.  It just said that they were seriously involved."

            "What's the difference?"

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "I guess he _could_ have loved her, I just find that somewhat difficult to believe.  The way Snape looks at people, I just don't know that he could love anyone.  Neither, it seems, do James or Sirius."

            "You wrote again?"

            "Well, the book wasn't published that long ago.  I thought maybe they would have noticed Snape having some sort of romance with a girl from Hogwarts.  No luck, though.  They don't remember anything."  Though it still seemed odd to Hermione to write to Harry's deceased loved ones, she had found herself growing more comfortable with it.  She still wasn't one hundred percent certain of the veracity of the replies, but Sirius's letters were distinctly like the man she had known, and James's writing could have easily been mistaken for Harry's.  

            Ginny got a dreamy look on her face.  "I wonder who it could have been?  Maybe he wasn't so evil back then.  Maybe he can't love anyone now because this girl broke his heart."

            Hermione was incredulous.  "From what the Marauders, both living and dead, have said, I don't think Snape was ever too much better than he is now."

            Ginny shrugged.  "It makes a great story though.  Think about it Hermione:  Severus Snape, kind and gentle boy, abandoned into the care of another by his birth parents, separated from his twin, journeys to Hogwarts.  There, he finds love in an unsuspecting place.  Poor Severus later has his heart broken when his love is tainted.  Filled with pain, he turns evil and becomes the Potions master at Hogwarts, where he can spread his wrath and agony to all Hogwarts students through homework, tests, and detentions."  

            "That's terrible," Ron said, coming up behind them and making a face as though he had just smelled something sour.  "Snape doesn't love anyone.  All he cares about is making potions and flunking Gryffindors."

            "Maybe he loved someone a long time ago," Ginny huffed.

            Ron put a finger to his chin as though he were considering the possibility.  "Doubtful," he said at last.

            Hermione continued on.  "Anyway," she said.  "I didn't really get anywhere.  I think I'm going to have to ask the Tree about Snape."

            Ron's face suddenly turned cloudy.  "I don't think you should do that, Hermione."

            "Why?"

            "Snape, he'll kill you if he finds out."  Ron looked her straight in the eye for the first time since they had embraced weeks ago on the lakeshore at Hogwarts.  "If what you said about him being so concerned over whether or not you had talked to the Tree about anyone else is true, you know he'll go into a bloody tantrum if he gets wind of you being around that Tree again."

            Hermione looked around, finding Harry napping in the far corner before speaking her next words.  Though the two had shared a friendly moment over dinner, their relationship had quickly digressed once again after the library incident.  "Look, Ron.  Not everyone would be as immature as Harry just because they found out I was talking with a Tree.  Maybe Snape would know I was only trying to help him.  He wouldn't be as thick as Harry and think that it was all some evil ploy to ruin his life."

            Ron's ears were as red as his hair.  Ginny frowned uncomfortably at Hermione's words, but said nothing.  "Help him," Ron practically shouted.  "How, in the name of Merlin, would you be helping Snape?  And, even if you were, why would you want to?"

            "Maybe I could find out what more there is to the story, and I could help heal the wounds," Hermione said quietly.  Ever since she had read the entry about Snape, she felt drawn to the possibility that there was something more to the story, something that she was missing.  She felt the need to know who the mystery woman was.  It had become a consuming task already, leaving her leafing through volumes upon volumes of Hogwarts history, hoping for just a single hint.  Right now, all she could think about was sitting beneath the boughs of the Black family Tree, and letting it weave it's hideous tales while she listened in horrific earnest, captivated by a magic she could not understand.

            "Fine," Ron said, straightening up, hands on his hips and an evil glare in his eye.  "Do what you want.  You always do anyway.  Just don't go asking about me.  Some people like to keep their lives private."

            "Oh, grow up Ron," Hermione snapped, feeling both angry and deflated.

            A minute passed in silence, during which Hermione could feel Ron glaring daggers at the back of her head.  

            "Hermione," Ginny said in a soft voice that was barely above a whisper.  

            "What,' the older girl replied, reproving herself for the snappish sound of her voice.

            "Please, for the last time, stay away from that Tree."

            Hermione turned to Ginny, eyes haunted and torn between what she would have liked to do and a deeper more compelling force that would determine what she was to do.  "Ginny," she said in a voice that sounded weaker than any the Weasley girl had ever heard from the mouth of her friend, "I can't."

*           *           *

            Ron had taken up a vigil outside of the door to the study soon after the four of them had safely arrived at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.  Several times, Mrs. Weasley had shooed him away, muttering about how he and Harry should be spending some time playing the latest wizarding games which Tonks had brought over from the Ministry.  Ron had simply rounded the corner until his mother passed out of sight, then returned to his post, determined to keep Hermione away from the Black Family Tree.

            Ron wasn't the only one intent on keeping the Tree out of Hermione's sight.  Ginny kept trying to distract her friend with different activities, including the shopping trip with Parvati and lavender that had been planned what seemed like a lifetime ago to Hermione.  As the days passed by, Hermione felt herself being more and more drawn to the study.  It was as though the Tree were calling her name, begging her to go in and sit beneath it, to listen to just one more story.  She vowed that she would do just that.  She needed only to find the chance.

              At last Christmas Eve arrived, and with it many of the members of the Order.  Mrs. Weasley had enlisted the help of every able bodied person in the household to help her prepare a fantastic feast for twenty-six.  Though Hermione looked forward to the prospect of seeing so many familiar faces and friends she was ready to take advantage of her opportunity to slip away to the study unnoticed.

            After having her fill of dinner, Hermione sat in the great room with the others for a while, laughing and reminiscing.  Soon, she slipped away, making as if she had to use the restroom.  She knew that in the midst of the jovial spirits, her absence would go unnoticed.  

            Carefully, she crept up the stairs, jumping over the one that creaked just in case Ron or Ginny were listening for her to head that way.  She reached the study door and took a deep breath trying to clear her head.  The calling of the Tree was pounding in her ears.  She knew that she could not return to Hogwarts until her mission had been accomplished.

            Slowly and with great care to be silent, she turned the knob on the door, stepping through the threshold as though she were nothing more that a whisper.  Keeping the knob twisted, she shut the door so that the latch would not make a sound.  After locking herself in, she performed a quick spell to keep the room impenetrable.  Breathing easier, she turned around to face the back wall where the tapestry depicting the Black family Tree was hung.  

            Out of curiosity, she looked to the Potter family, wondering if Snape's name was listed there and she had somehow missed it in her haste during her last visit.  It was not.  That meant the Tree had some secrets it like to keep to itself.  

            Running her fingers along the cloth, Hermione tried to remember what exactly she had done last time to make the Tree come to life.  Try as she might, she could remember nothing.  She had simply been staring at the tapestry, wishing that there was someone who could tell her more, someone who was both knowledgeable and objective.  She laughed that her pain had come at the price of her innocent wish being granted.  Now she knew why people said to be careful what you wished for.

            Perhaps the key was in the wished.  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, picturing the Tree and begging for someone with the ability to answer her questions.  She felt a soft rustle in the air, and when she looked up the Tree had sprouted again.,  eagerly, she ran to sit beneath it, her eyes shining with anticipation.

            "So," the Tree said in its gruff voice, "you have returned for more."

            "Yes," she said, trying to quell her excitement.  "I have a lot I need to ask you, and I don't know how much time I have."

            "Last time was not enough?" the Tree asked.

            "I though it was," she admitted shyly, "but what you told me before was only the first thread in the process of unraveling.  I have a lot more questions for you now."

            "Very well," the Tree said, straightening (if such a thing were possible) "you may begin."

            Hermione cleared her throat and scooted to a more comfortable position before speaking.  "last time I was here, I asked you to tell me about the Potter family, and I found out more than I ever wanted to know.  You told me that Severus Snape was James Potter's twin brother, which makes him Harry's blood uncle."

            "This is correct," the Tree affirmed.

            "I went back to Hogwarts, and the knowledge was hard on me.  I tried to keep it a secret, because I didn't want Harry to find out, and I didn't want Snape to know that I knew."

            "You asked," said the Tree.

            Hermione continued as though it had not spoken.  "The secret came out, however, and Professor Snape was very angry with me for speaking to you.  He was also very concerned as to whether I had asked about any other wizarding families.  I told him that I had not, but he did not seem satisfied with the answer.  A few days later, I found Harry Potter looking through a book in the library.  When I picked the copy up, it was an anthology of wizarding genealogy.  In there, it was marked that Snape was seriously involved with a pure-blood witch."

            "This is true," the Tree said.

            Hermione looked up, her face deadly serious.  "Tell me about Professor Snape."

            The leaves on the Tree shook as though it were sighing mightily.  "As you wish," it said.

            Hermione sat back and listened, waiting to know the truth.

*           *           *

            Hermione counted herself lucky that she had been able to spend the evening with the Tree, for on Christmas day Snape had arrived.  He had dropped off a vial of Pepper Up Potion at the insistence of Mrs. Weasley for Harry, who was feeling under the weather.  After that, he had immediately stormed up the stairs, creating such a racket that he had woken the portrait of Sirius's mother.  "FILTHY MUDBLOOD LOVERS," the painting screeched.  "SOILING MY HOME, BEFOULING MY NAME…" Everyone had covered their ears and continued unwrapping presents until the din had died down and they were once again able to hear themselves think.

            Hermione had received a crocheted maroon bag with the Gryffindor crest on it to carry her cauldron and potions ingredients in from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a new bottle of Sleekeazy Hair potion from Ginny, a book of famous wizarding quotations from Ron, and a gold galleon from Harry.  He told her that that way she could get what she wanted.  She thought it was the most impersonal gift she had ever received.  Though they had been feuding all year, she had at least taken the time to buy Harry a new pair of gloves that were supposed to help him grip his broom and hopefully the snitch better.  Ron had picked them out and assured her Harry would like them.  Harry had glanced them over after seeing that they were from her and had mumbled a soft thank you before throwing them into his pile of presents without even trying them on.  Mrs. Weasley had noticed and frowned, but did not say anything.

            Hermione was so busy with her gifts that she did not notice the length of time Snape had spent upstairs until he returned to the ground floor of Grimwald place nearly an hour later, claiming that he would have stayed longer, but he had urgent business to attend to now that his job here was done.  He gave Hermione a very nasty look then billowed through the door.

            Hermione thought about what the Tree had told her last night, still wondering if it could be true.  She grabbed her presents and hauled them up to her room.  Suddenly, she heard Ron yelling from down the hall.  "Get out of there right now, Hermione!  I told you to never look at that bloody thing again!"

            Hermione leapt out of her room,  wondering how he could have suddenly been tipped off that she had snuck a visit to the Tree last night.  He looked at her in surprise as she appeared.  "If you're out here," he said, "then who's in there?'

            The door, instead of being locked had been left open a crack which had led Ron to suspect the Hermione was in talking to the Tree.  Together the opened the door and found the room empty.  Judging from the wreckage, however, it had had an earlier visitor.

            "OY!  Mum, Dad, Harry, Ginny, come quick!  Someone's been in here!"

            Hermione heard the others come charging up the stairs as she surveyed the wreckage that was left in the room.  Much of the furniture looked as though it had been tipped over by a heavy blast.  Scorch marks covered the walls and ceiling.  Hermione glanced to where the tapestry of the Black Family Tree had been just the night before.  There was nothing left except for a few charred fragments of fabric.  The rest had been completely destroyed.

            "Oh my," said Mrs. Weasley, drawing her hand to her mouth.  "Who could have done such a thing?"

            The others were drawing speculations but Hermione stopped them by holding her hand up.  "It was Snape," she said.

            "Professor Snape?"  Mr. Weasley inquired.  "Hermione, are you sure?"

            "Yes," she answered.  "he and I had been having quite a row over this tapestry.  He wanted it destroyed.  He was just here, while we were opening our gifts, then he left."

            Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed satisfied with the answer, and the retreated to the first floor to tell Lupin and Tonks what the commotion had been about.

            "Well," said Ron, "I'm sorry that you didn't get to listen to the Tree again, Hermione but I actually think that Snape did the right thing for once in his miserable life."

            Ginny agreed.  "You should be glad that Snape destroyed that Tree before you had a chance to talk to it again, Hermione.  Who knows what kind of damage it could have done this time?"

            "You're right, I suppose," Hermione feigned resignedly.  "I guess everything does work out for the best, after all."  She would wait until the right time to tell them what she had learned on what had proven to be her final visit to the Black Family Tree.  Until then, she would play along as though they had outwitted her plans t visit with the Tree, and had kept her safe from harm until Professor Snape could destroy what they had all obviously decided was an instrument of pure evil.

            Ron and Ginny both seemed satisfied with her answer and turned to walk down the stairs and rejoin the festivities downstairs.  Hermione listened to them go, and only when their footsteps had faded away did she turn around again.  To her surprise, Harry was still standing there.

            "You seem awfully happy about the whole thing, Hermione," he remarked quietly.

            "There's nothing I could do about it even if I wasn't," she said.  "Besides," she lied, "I think the best thing that could of happen was for that Tree to be destroyed before I could gat any more information out of it."

            Harry still looked incredulous.  "You're lying," he said.

            "About what?'

            "You said you were glad to see the Tree destroyed, but I know better than that.  The only way you would be glad about it is if you had already talked to it again."

            "What makes you say that?"

            "Because I know you, Hermione.  You're not satisfied with knowing half of what there is to know about anything.  You think that you can learn about everything there is to know in the world and that you can analyze everything and break it down into it's most basic parts."

            Hermione sniffed indignantly.  "And I suppose you see no merit in the pursuit of knowledge?"

            "I didn't say that," said Harry, his eyes still cold every time they fixed upon her.  "It's just that there are some things that you can never understand just because you took a little time to learn about them."

            Hermione had run out of patience.  'Is there something that you want to tell me, harr6y?  because if there is I suggest you get on with it."

            Harry shook his head.  "You just don't get it, do you?"

            "What are you talking about?"

            "Look, Hermione.  I saw you come up here last night, but I didn't tell anyone.  Merlin knows I have more of a right to tell Ron and Ginny on you than anyone else on this earth does, but I didn't say a word."

            "Why not?" she huffed.  "Were you saving it until now so you could hold it over my head.  Are you going to tell Ron that I talked to the big bad Tree next time you're angry with me."  She sounded wickedly snide, even to herself, but she couldn't help it.  If this was Harry's idea of revenge she still felt his anger was misplaced.

            "No," he said icily.  "I just thought maybe you would figure out to leave well enough alone if that thing told you something else terrible.  Maybe you would realize that it's not up to you to decide how to ruin people's lives."

            "It's still about that, is it?  Grow up, Harry, and get your head out of your arse!  Think about what you would have done if you were in my position before you attack me next time!"

            "I wouldn't know, Hermione," he said coldly.  "You see, I've never been in a position that involves having a normal, easy life."

            Hermione had reached the end.  She felt herself trembling with age.  So far, everything he had said had only served to push her closer and closer to her breaking point.  She felt as though she were about to completely lose control.  "You call my life easy, Harry?"

            "Compared to mine, yes."

            "I just asked you if you thought my life was easy," she said, matching his chilly tone.  "I didn't say anything about holding a contest."

            Harry rolled his eyes.  "Then I still think your life is easy, Miss Perfect Prefect."

            Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.  "Yes, Harry," she seethed.  "My life is so easy.  Everyday I wake up and hope that there is enough time for me to get everything done and have it done correctly, but I know there never will be, not when I have to do my prefect duties as well.  I can hardly finish all of my homework.  I work until way after everyone else has gone to bed, and al lot of times I do more homework before I go down to breakfast."

            "Oh," said Harry.  "I didn't realize that having homework was so much worse than having your parents killed by Voldemort!"

            He was missing the point completely.  Hermione lost it.  "Shut up when I'm talking to you!" she screeched in a voice and manner that sounded nothing like, yet, paradoxically was everything she had harbored within her for so long.  It was a scream of every moment she had wished to scream, every cry she had wished to wail.  It was not her, and ye5t somehow it was her.  "Just shut up and listen!  You haven't bothered to do that since you found out that I knew that Snape was your uncle!  I'm just trying to tell you that no one's life is easy, Harry.  You're not the only one in the world that has problems, you know.  Neville couldn't brew a potion if his life depended on it.  Ron's family can hardly afford to live.  Nothing I do is ever good enough for me.  We all have our cross to bear, you're not the only one."

            Harry said nothing.

            "Look, Harry.  This is the last time I'm going to tell you this.  Either you'll listen or you won't, and if you don't, I give up on being your friend because I know that it isn't what you want anymore.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  I was trying to do what was best for you, and unfortunately it didn't work out quite the way I planned it to, thanks, in no small part to you.  Don't talk, just listen.  If you hadn't come into Snape's office, you wouldn't have found out what I was hiding until I knew that I should tell you.  Sometimes we hurt the people we love because we love them, not in spite of our love for them."  

She turned from him, not allowing him to answer as tears streamed down her face.  She headed to the bedroom she and Ginny were sharing and flopped down upon the twin bed, letting the down pillow soak up her tears as she drowned in her misery.  Half of her hoped Harry would follow her, but the other half was relieved that he had stayed away.  After losing control like she had, she didn't know if she was ready to face anyone.  She told herself that it was normal, that it happened to everybody at some point, but somehow she felt as though she should be removed from the statistical average.  She thought she had shown weakness when all she had really shown was humanity.

Sometime later, she heard a soft knocking on her door.  "Come in," she murmured, not bothering to look up.

            "Hermione?  It's me, Ron."  She felt the edge of the bed dip down as he sat beside her.  "Is everything all right?"

            "I don't know," she answered honestly.

            "Harry says the thinks you've made up, but he wouldn't tell me anything."

            She rolled over and faced him, the gloom suddenly seeming to lift a bit.  "He said that?"

            "Yes."

            She laughed.  "He actually listened then.  After all of the times I told him the same exact thing, he actually listened."  Suddenly, she felt as though she could fly.  

            Ron smiled briefly, and then turned more serious.    "I, um, heard you and Harry arguing.  Just the beginning of it.  I dropped a dung bomb on the steps, and I went back to get it, you know.  Uh, anyway, I heard him say that he knew you visited the Tree again."  His face was bright red.  "Why, Hermione?"

            Her shoulders slumped and she frowned.  "I wanted to find out about Snape's mystery woman.  I had to know, Ron, and I thought that the Tree would be my only chance."

            Ron tried to look reproving, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  "What did you find out?"

            "I can't tell you," said Hermione.  "It wouldn't be fair to him if I did."

            "Like he's ever fair to us," Ron grumbled.  "Come on, Hermione."

            "I can't tell you," she repeated firmly.  "Besides, you wouldn't believe me if I did."

*           *           *

            Hermione had remained silent throughout the rest of the holidays, despite the frequent attempts of her friends to get her to revel the secret of Snape's past.  Ginny had expressed nothing more than a cursory interest, while Harry had been indigent of her enlightenment.  Ron, being the most melodramatic of all, had professed that he would surely die were he not let in on the secret.  Hermione had simply smiled a knowing smile and firmly sealed her lips, refusing to indulge them.

            She sat before the fire in the Gryffindor common room pretending to read one her textbooks as she dreaded Potions Class the next day.  Snape had never returned to Grimwald place after his destruction of the Black Family Tree.  She still didn't know if he had destroyed the Tree because he didn't want anyone else finding out the information that he knew Hermione was already aware of, or because he was trying to prevent her from learning what he believed she did not yet know.  In any case, it would make for a rather sticky situation.

            She had written to Sirius and James again after finding out Snape's secret, but neither of them had known anything about the secretive life that Snape seemed to have left behind in the past.  

            She recalled her last session with the Tree.  Sitting beneath its boughs, she had inquired as to Snape's past.  Even when she did it, a small part of her felt that her actions were anything but right.  Even so, she found that she couldn't help herself.

            It began innocuously enough.

            It seemed that during Snape's days as a student at Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore had gotten into a bit of a tiff with the then-Headmaster of the French wizarding school Beaux Batons, Algernon Fite.  The two had been amiably arguing over which school had the most advanced curriculum and students in the area of potion making when Fite had suggested a friendly competition between the two schools.  Dumbledore had agreed, and the two Headmasters each selected twelve students to represent their respective schools.  Snape was one of those selected, along with a list of names with whom Hermione was only partially familiar including Frank Longbottom, Lily Evens, Sirius Black, and Lucious Malfoy.  Hermione supposed Harry had inherited his father's potion making ability.

            The two schools had agreed to meet on the Grounds of Beaux Batons, for Fite was somewhat of an agoraphobic, and Dumbledore had pronounced himself in need of a vacation anyway.  After a few weeks of fervent practice, the dozen students and Dumbledore had departed for the French provinces.

            The competition was to last for ten days.  There were five grueling sessions of potion making interspersed with five days that could be used for leisure, sightseeing or, if one were overly ambitious, extra practice.  After four days and two sessions of competition, the two magical schools were in a dead heat as to which among them was the most proficient.  The fifth day was a day of rest, during which the Hogwarts students left in small groups to explore muggle France.  Snape, however, decided to bolster his teams chances by heading to the potions lab and working on his concoctions.  He had a few ideas, and felt that if he could simply tweak them a bit he would take the lead in the personal competition, as well as help Hogwarts on to victory.

            Down in the lab, he had toiled away nearly an entire day.  As he collected his materials to leave, he was caught off guard by a small cough from the back of the room.  Turning quickly, he saw a girl that he recognized as Arial Dora, one of the Beaux Batons candidate for the contest.  It seemed that Snape had been furious, thinking that she had been spying on him.  Dismissively, she had silenced him, saying that she was simply admiring his work.

            From what Hermione had gathered, the two had formed a quick friendship that thrived in the potions lab and sustained them through the rest of the tournament.  From what she knew of Snape, he had had few friends during his school years, and she supposed that the attentions of  a mysterious foreign girl with an appreciation for the finer subtleties of potion making were probably just what a sixteen year old Snape would need to win his heart.  The two had continued their correspondence after the tournament had concluded (Snape had won the individual contest, and Hogwarts had narrowly escaped as the victor, winning by less than five points).  

            Over the summer that year, Snape had quietly visited Arial, citing other reasons for his absences to his family, while she too had made up excuses to her loved ones.  It seemed no one had noticed their blossoming relationship.  Hermione supposed that since Snape was stereotyped as being a greasy silent git no one thought that all of the extra time he spent practicing potions could have had any more motivation than his personal success in the competition.

            The following year, Snape had continued to communicate frequently with Arial, even visiting her illegally through the floo network on one occasion.  She had scolded him harshly, citing dire consequences for the both of them if anyone had seen them together. They did not see each other again after this until the following summer after Snape had graduated from Hogwarts.

            For a year following Snape's graduation, he had taken a position in France working with a group of alchemists.  It was during this time that Snape's juvenile interest in the dark arts became more mature and serious through the guidance of his co workers who were all quiet supporters of Voldemort.  It was also during this time that Snape tried repeatedly to persuade Arial to come and live with him.  It seemed that he wanted to bring their relationship out in the open.  She was violently opposed to doing this, saying that it wouldn't be fair to him if they did.

            After working in France for fourteen months, Snape decided that it was time to move on, and to delve deeper into the dark circles that were forming throughout the wizarding world.  Voldemort was just reaching the apex of his power, and many of his supporters were beginning to become more public.  Snape felt that it was time for him to do this as well.  One last time, he pleaded to Arial that she put aside her inhibitions and create a life with him.

            This time, Arial had coldly turned him down, saying that not only would she never live with him, they could not ever be seen together again if he valued his future and hers.  He asked her why, and she said it was because she was pregnant with his child, and that her father would be sorely disappointed if he knew that a supporter of the Dark Side was involved.  She proclaimed the man a strong proponent of the so-called "good" side, but would say no more about him.  Snape had been devastated, but he had turned his anger into rage through his work for the Deatheaters.  

            Nearly a year later, Snape had received a correspondence by owl stating that eight months ago a daughter had been born to him.  Arial had run away from her family in the dead of night, changed her name and settled down to live with a dark wizard whom she would not tell Snape the name of.  That was the last time Snape ever heard from her.  He never knew his child.

            Hermione had had so many questions she had wanted to field to the Tree, but had decided that enough was enough for one night.  She remembered bitterly how she had worried that spending any longer with the Tree would cause her to be missed.  If she had know of Snape's intent, she would have continued grilling the Tree as to who Arial was, who her seemingly intolerant father had been, and as to who this child was.  As it stood now, she had answered her question with a dozen more.  She didn't even know where to begin in her quest for answers now.  She had tried to summon the Tree again, but it seemed to have been damaged beyond repair.  She had written to James and Sirius, but neither of them knew anything about a girl named Arial, though Sirius had expressed a mild degree of approval that Snape would use his time at Beaux Batons to "snag the ladies" as he put it.  

            Hermione didn't know where else to turn for answers, because she knew that Snape wouldn't be giving her any.  As it stood right now, she hoped that Snape would never find out that she had been snooping into his personal life.

            "Still thinking about the Tree," Ron said with only a hint of bitterness in his voice.  She knew that he wouldn't give up until she had told him everything that she knew.  Right now just didn't seem like the time, though.  She trusted her friend, but she hated to have him running his mouth by accident during his quest for answers, which she was certain would be far less methodical and orderly than the research she planned on doing.

            "A bit," she said.

            "What did it say?"

            "It said not to tell you what it said.  It said that if I did you would die a slow and painful death at the hands of Snape when he found out that you knew about his love life.  It said that you can't keep your mouth shut," she said a bit snappishly.

            "I can too," Ron pouted, focusing only on one thing that she had said an ignoring all of the rest.

            Harry rolled his eyes from behind Ron and grinned at Hermione.  Hermione was glad to have his friendship back.  She had forgotten how nice it felt when the three of them could interact together in peace without having to mediate through Ron or Ginny.  

            Ron changed the subject.  "What do you think we'll be doing in potions tomorrow Harry?" he asked, a sickening grin on his face as he turned and winked exaggeratedly at Hermione.

            Harry had the same grin spread over his countenance.  "I don't know, Ron.  Do you think it will be truth serum this time, or a bit of mind-reading?"

            "It's hard to say," said Ron, sighing.  He reached out and touched Hermione on the shoulder.  She felt a shiver run down her spine.  It was the first time there had been any physical contact between them since their embrace.  "Whatever it is, though, I have a feeling that poor Hermione will be spending loads of time in detention with Snape."

            Hermione smiled wanly.  Ron was right.  She had better learn to like the dungeon.

*           *           *

            He remembered.  For the first time in fifteen years, he allowed his thoughts to slip back to a time when he felt it was in his power to be happy.  Arial.  He hadn't thought of her in so long.  He had hidden those thoughts away, and slowly time had eroded them until they were nothing more than brief flashes of memory.  It was as though they were a part of another life.

            He recalled everything about her as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring into the darkness of his chamber.  The air was damp and cold, but he made no efforts to stave the cold.  Perhaps it would numb the pain.

            She had been beautiful in a way most would never have appreciated.  She had a subtle quality about her, vivid intelligence and an invincible spirit that had made up for what she lacked in actual looks.  He had found few others like her, and none with whom he would have wished to share his life.

            He wondered where she was for not the first time.  Her departure had been such a sudden affair, that it had completely taken him aback.  He had expected her to one day allow him deeper into her life, to throw off the repressive cloak of family she wore and make the decision to be with him.  When he found out she was carrying his child, he had been certain that the moment would be at hand.  He had been wrong.

            She had left him in a cold and decisive way that had cut him to the very quick.  Even now, he doubted that he could be quite so heartless.  He never even knew his daughter.  He had one picture of her as a small infant.  She looked nothing like him, nor did she resemble her mother.  He had stowed the image away in a desk drawer or a cabinet somewhere, never having really looked at it closely, and choosing consciously never to dwell on it.  In no way was that his child.  Arial, in the same cruel way she had disposed of their relationship had disposed of him as that child's predecessor.  He had no doubt that she had never mentioned him to their daughter.  

            He grasped a piece of his bed sheet between his fingers, twisting the cottony material in an effort to dull the anguish he felt inside.  He wondered if Arial ever did the same.  Did she know what she had done to him, what she had put him through?  He wondered if she would even care.  

            He breathed in deeply, letting the cool air fill his lungs until his head had been cleared.  Miss Granger, he had no doubt, knew at least part of the story.  He had been too late.  He had seen it in her eyes.  The loathing that normally presided there was far preferable to the pity had had seen on Christmas.  He did not want to be pitied.  He wanted only to be left alone, a fact that he tried to make abundantly clear to everyone in the entire castle everyday.

            He only hoped that that Nosy Gryffindor Girl could remember that.

*           *           *

            Ron's prediction of Snape's behavior in their first Potions Class following the holidays proved to be somewhat of an exaggeration.  If anything, he had afforded Hermione even less attention than he had previously throughout the year.  She had been relieved by her slight reprieve, and had taken the opportunity to aid Ron and Harry with some much needed catching up.  Grudgingly, they were forced to admit that the quality of their Potions work had suffered without her aid.

            "A word, Miss Granger," Snape said after dismissing class.  Harry and Ron stood behind with her as the rest of the students filed out of the classroom, happy to escape the gloomy cold of the dungeons.  Snape gave the two boys a nasty glare.  "Neither of you bear the slightest resemblance to Miss Granger." 

            "We were just going to wait for her, Sir," Ron said.

            "Well, go wait in your common room, then.  I am sure that Miss Granger is intelligent enough to find her way back to Gryffindor tower without your help."  He motioned them towards the door, and the pair sourly walked out muttering about how unfair their lives were.  Hermione held no doubts that they were waiting just outside, ears pressed tightly against the classroom door.

            "Yes Professor," she said benignly.  She didn't know if he knew that she had spoken to the Tree about him, and she would rather let him think that she had not if such a thing were possible.  She cleared her mind and took a deep breath, waiting for him to try and probe her mind.  She had been practicing various methods of Occlumency, and she knew that he would find nothing relevant to his quest.

            To her surprise, she felt none of the sensations that she expected washing over her.  She opened her eyes again, and he was simply staring at her with the sort of loathing she felt whenever she looked at him.  "There is no need for such tactics, Miss Granger.  I know that you have already become all too aware of some of the events in my past which I would have much rather kept secret."

            "I'm sorry, Sir," she said, her cheeks burning with the shame of having been caught.  "I didn't mean…"

            "Yes, you meant to, Miss Granger.  You didn't mean for me to find out what you had done, though."

            "No, Sir, if I would have known what the Tree was going to tell me…"

            "You would have shared that you were going to listen to it with all of your little friends.  Yes, Miss Granger, I am all too aware of that fact.  Despite whatever lie you were going to tell me in its place, I understand what your actual intent was."

            Hermione was fed up with him already.  She wondered how he could so easily drive her to such exasperation so quickly.  Some days, it seemed as though all she had to do was look at him and the hot flush of frustrated anger began to flow over her.  Now he was staring at her with those dark, cold, unforgiving eyes and she could feel her dislike intensify.  He refused to hear anything aside from what he wanted to hear.  All he cared about was what he believed was true.  He had no interest in the actuality of the situation.  "Perhaps, Sir," she said coldly, "you could allow me to finish a statement or two?"

            "I see no need to waste my time, Miss Granger.  What as been done has been done, but I promise you that this turn will not go unpunished.  You see, I was angry with you for having snooped through Potter's records unauthorized, but Dumbledore was content to simply let it go.  This I will not be persuaded to take lightly.  You have violated my privacy in a most serious way, and I will not stand for it.  I don't care who you ridiculous friends are, there are certain policies of behavior that should be enforced.  I expected better of you, Miss Granger.  As a Prefect, I would have thought you would have had some sense of honor."

            Hermione felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes but she willed them furiously away. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.  He was trying to break her, but she would bend enough that such a thing was impossible.  "Perhaps, Sir, you have misjudged my intent," she said softly, some of the earlier coldness having left her voice.  Though she still loathed the sight of him, she could not help but feel some measure of sympathy for the man before her after hearing his story.  Such a tale was enough to breed pity for even the coldest of men.

            Snape snarled at her, and she had the feeling that he was about to lose his normally unflappable coolness.  "Miss Granger, I do not care what your intent was.  All that I care about is what actions you undertook in the process.  Those actions were wrong and I intend to deal with them.  Firmly.  You may leave."

            She opened her mouth to defend herself, to tell him she was sorry for what he had been through, something, anything that would make things better, but he gave her no chance.  "Get out of my sight," he said simply; waving her off as though she were nothing more than a pesky fly he had become intent on quashing.  He buried his head over a stack of papers making it clear that her interview was over.

            Hermione turned away and walked up the stone steps, unsure of what to do next.  She opened the door and found, not at all to her surprise, Harry and Ron waiting outside.  "What did he say to you, Hermione," Harry implored.

            "Did he try to read your mind again?" Ron asked.  "If he did, I'll go in there right now…"

            "Oh stop it, Ron," Hermione said, her voice sharper than she had intended.  "He didn't try to read my mind.  He told me that he knew I'd spoken with the Tree.  He said that I had violated his privacy, and that that was something that would have to be firmly dealt with."

            "So you have detention again," Ron concluded thickly.

            "No, Ron, I might be expelled from the school if Snape has his way.  It was bad enough that I knew that he was Harry's Uncle.  He wants to make sure that no one else knows his other dirty little secret.  I guess the only way he thinks that he can control that is through some sort of oppressive discipline."

            "What is his secret?"  Harry asked.  

            Hermione glared at him.  "Remember what happened the last time I told you a secret Harry?  If I remember correctly, it upset you a bit."

            "It's about me then," Harry said, his eyes narrowing.  

            "No.  I just don't think that it's anyone's business.  Not even mine."

            "You should go talk to Dumbledore," Ron said.  "You need to see him before Snape does.  Let him know your side of the story.  I'll come with you, if you like."

            Hermione thought it over for a moment.  Ron was right.  That's exactly what she would have told him to do were the situation reversed.  At this point, Dumbledore was the only one whom she could trust with this secret.  He probably already knew anyway, she reasoned.  "You're right Ron," she acknowledged.

            She turned down the hallway that led to the staircase outside of Dumbledore's office.  All of the prefects knew the password, so she would not have to wait until McGonagall would arrange an audience with the headmaster for her.  "Fizzing Whizbee," she said to the stone gargoyle which promptly jumped aside.  She stepped onto the revolving staircase, and only then did she notice that Ron and Harry both were still with her.  "What are you doing here?" She asked.

            "Moral support," said Harry.  Hermione knew better.  They wanted to go into the office with her so that they could hear Snape's secret.  She had already done enough damage, though.  She would allow no such thing.

            "That's nice of you," she smiled.  "You can wait outside until I'm finished."  The two shared a crestfallen look so identical it was almost comical.  Hermione smiled to herself as she taped on the headmaster's door.  It _was_ nice to have both of her best friends again.

            "Come in, come in," Dumbledore said from within.  She opened the door a crack and stepped into his circular office.  Hermione found herself within infrequently enough that its eclectic magic was still a sufficient spectacle to wow her.  "Good afternoon Miss Granger" Dumbledore said softly.  "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?'

            Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat as she sunk down in the chair opposite the headmaster.  She didn't know where to begin, and she stated as much.

            "At the beginning is usually sufficient," Dumbledore reasoned.

            Her mind was swirling.  So much had happened this year that she no longer knew where the beginning was.  The best that she could come up with was that day during the past summer when she had conjured the live Tree for the first time and had settled beneath its branches to learn about the Potters.  Painfully, her story came pouring out to the kindly man before her.  She barely even paused long enough to catch her breath between each section.  Most of this, she knew, was old information to him.  When she reached the part about visiting the Tree a second time, however, something seemed to hold her back.  She felt as though she should be mindful to protect Snape's privacy, for she wasn't certain how much of the tale she had learned the headmaster did or did not know.

            "I saw the Tree again over our winter vacation," she said at last.  "I asked it about Snape."

            "_Professor_ Snape, Miss Granger.  Why did you do such a thing?"

            "In class, he made us brew Vertiserum.  When he was interviewing me to find out if mine had been mixed properly, he started asking me if I had asked the Tree about anyone else.  He seemed very intent on finding out that I had. I became curious, and, after seeing something in a genealogy book that caught my eye, I asked the Tree about Snape.  It told me a very sad story about him, and now he knows that I know.  I think that he wants to have me expelled for invading his privacy.  I did it for the right reasons though.  I just wanted to help him."  Hermione felt lighter after sharing her story, but still her breath caught in her throat.  The moment of reckoning was upon her.

            Dumbledore stood up and paced about his office, looking uncharacteristically old and weary.  At last, after Hermione had long since grown uncomfortable, he returned to his seat.  "Miss Granger, sometimes we do things, and then after we have done them we justify that our mistakes were performed with only the best of intentions.  We all know that this isn't entirely true, though."  She opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly shut it again.  Something about the timing simply didn't feel right to her.  Dumbledore was in command of the floor now, and she knew that he would not yield, nor should he be forced to, until he had said his piece.  "You know, Miss Granger, that your intent may have had a degree of nobility to it.  I have no doubt that you are of such character that you would think it unreasonable not to help Professor Snape even though you may not always agree with or like him.  However, I think part of your motivation was simply curiosity.  If what you have told me it true, Professor Snape made it implicitly clear that he did not want you to have discovered any further knowledge of his past.  Whatever his motivation for secrecy may have been, you violated that wish by delving into a yesterday that he may have wished to ignore."

            Hermione hung her head slightly.  He was right.  She had never meant to hurt Snape with what she found out, whatever it may have been, but much of her action had been the product of curiosity.

            Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.  "I don't know what exactly you found out about our Potions master, Miss Granger, but I am certain you will not feel the need to share it with anyone else in this school, including myself.  Don't look so surprised.  There _are _a few things about Professor Snape that I don't know."

            "So I'm not going to be expelled," Hermione asked cautiously, her heart feeling a bit lighter.

            Dumbledore chuckled softly.  "Not today, Miss Granger.  I can hardly expel you for simple curiosity, though it may have offended one of your professors.  I do feel, however, that I must give you some sort of punishment.  You did violate Professor Snape's privacy."

            Hermione didn't care that she was being punished.  Dumbledore had been more interested in the fact that she had done the right thing by not spreading the information she had gathered around to the whole of Hogwarts than he had been that she had done what might have been the wrong thing, by gathering information from the Tree in the first place.

            "I think that two weeks of detention with Professor Snape seems like fair punishment."

            "Yes Sir," Hermione said her heart sinking gloomily as she rose to leave.  Two weeks of detention with Snape didn't seem like a fair punishment for any crime, especially a simple act of curiosity.  She scowled as she exited.  Despite's Ron's advice from yesterday, she was no more fond of the dungeon than she had ever been.

*           *           *

            Hermione had had a miserable week thus far.  Starting the night of her encounter with Professor Dumbledore, she had been working late hours in the Potions lab with Snape helping him to prepare for the following day's lessons.  Actually, to say that she was helping him was a bit of a stretch.  She was getting everything ready as he stood behind her and supervised in the most cynical and overbearing way that Hermione could have possibly imagined.  

            "Miss Granger, I believe that I asked you to cut each root into sixteen equal pieces.  I did not say cut sixteen equal pieces and then throw away the rest of the root."

            "But, Sir, all I disposed of were the ends.  Since they taper off, it's impossible for them to be of equal volume with the rest of the …"

            Snape turned even icier.  "Shut up, Miss Granger and simply do as I say."  She waited, hurt for him to billow away, but he simply stood there glaring over her shoulder.  She decided that the reason he was so angry about the stupid roots was because he had not thought about the size discrepancy until she mentioned it.  She took a small degree of smug solace in this fact.  "What are you waiting for," Snape hissed.  "I would love to see you finish _this_ project sometime before the morning hours so I could at least get a decent amount of sleep tonight."

            Hermione had had it.  Every night so far, Snape had given her impossible tasks to complete and had simply stood by and watched her struggle to finish the enormous and monotonous workload she had been assigned.  She hadn't gotten to sleep before three AM since her first day of detention, and, as the hands of the clock were nearing one now her prospects for tonight looked similarly bleak.  "Perhaps," she said with just a hint of insurgence, "we would both be able to get some rest if you would stop standing around and help me."

            Snape looked as though he were going to snap his wand, which he was tightly clutching, in half.  "I, Miss Granger, am not the one who has been assigned a detention for eavesdropping."  He stepped away from her a bit.  "However, I will take one part of your advice."  He looked to the counter and began muttering numbers to himself as though he were calculating something.  "Judging from what you have left to complete, I would say that you have another three hours of servitude before you can head back to your bed.  I shall be back to check on you in two and a half hours, after _I _have gotten some rest."  He turned on his heel and headed for the back door of his office.  Suddenly his footsteps stopped and his voice rang through the room once again.  "Don't try anything funny, Miss Granger.  I sleep just on the other side of that door, you know, and I am a very light sleeper."  Having dispensed his warning, he stalked into his private chambers, leaving Hermione alone with her frustration, her fury, and a huge pile of slimy roots that still needed cutting.  He had also taken her wand.

            Hermione growled animalistically in her throat.  How she hated him at that moment!  She couldn't believe that this was happening.  Why couldn't he have at least left her her wand so that she could spend a fraction of the time dissecting these stupid roots?  She felt as though she were going to break down, but she furiously began working again, determined to finish before he could return from his unearned rest.

            After about an hour, she heard a soft noise coming from the door to Snape's living area and looked up, expecting to see the hated professor standing there with a smug look upon his face.  Instead, there was nothing.  She looked around puzzled, lowering her eyes to the floor.  "Dobby," she said softly.  "You scared me."

            "Dobby was cleaning, Miss.  Dobby was told not to clean this room, but then Master Snape grew tired of cleaning it himself.  No one else will come down here, Miss.  All of the others are too afraid."  Dobby looked immensely proud of himself for his bravery and his reinstated employment.

            "Dobby, you don't have to clean Professor Snape's chamber, you know," Hermione started.  Despite their less than ideal surroundings, Hermione could think of no better opportunity to give the elf a lecture on the equality of all houselves that she desired.  Dobby, apparently, had other ideas.

            "Miss, please, Dobby is wanting to clean.  Dobby likes to work."  As if to demonstrate the truth of this statement, Dobby set off with a duster, sweeping up around the room.  He stopped when he reached the pile of roots before Hermione.  "Would Miss like Dobby to clean these?"

            "No, Dobby, I have to finish cutting them so that I can go back to my common room and get some sleep."  Hermione tried not to let the bitterness she felt leech into her voice, but she was not entirely successful.

            Dobby looked as though she had granted him his greatest wish.  "Dobby can help, Miss," he squeaked excitedly.  "Dobby can cut the roots!"

            Hermione felt that she had to practice what she preached, despite the appeal of Dobby's offer.  "No, Dobby," she said resignedly, "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

            "It's no trouble," Dobby said delightedly.  He waved his hands over the pile of roots, and all of them became neatly cut into sixteen equal pieces.  

            "How did you know?"  Hermione asked, amazed that her work was so quickly, and so correctly, done.

            "Master Snape _always_ tells Dobby to cut roots that way," Dobby stated proudly.

            "You mean," Hermione said, eyes narrowing, "that you always prepare the materials for Snape's lessons."

            "Yes, Miss," Dobby said, beaming.

            Hermione sighed.  So much for Snape's work ethic.

            She watched as Dobby finished cleaning the room, thanking him profusely.  After he left, she considered waking Snape, for she still had forty-five minutes to waste before he would return to the classroom.  Somehow, she decided, arousing Snape from his slumber probably wasn't the best idea she had ever had.

            Looking around the room, she tried to find somewhere comfortable to nap for the remainder of her detention.  After finding nothing promising, she began pacing about the room, trying to come up with something to do.  She couldn't start on her work for the next night, for she didn't know what it would be.  There was no decent place to doze.  All of her homework was still in Gryffindor tower.

            Overcome by boredom and fatigue, she began quietly opening the drawers around the room and rifling through them, making certain to replace everything exactly as she had found it.  She wondered why Snape had not locked them before leaving, and then decided that he believed she would have been too absorbed in her task to cause any sort of destruction.

            She came upon a large cabinet.  Carefully, she opened the door.  Inside was a large pensive.  She considered losing herself in Snape's memories, but decided that enough damage had already been done.  She lifted the basin, trying to see if there was anything behind it.  Something fluttered to the floor.  Quickly, she replaced the pensive and bent down to pick up the small scrap of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the basin.

            It was a photograph.  There was a small infant obviously just born.  It had a small hint of dark brown hair, a small upturned nose, freckles and green eyes.  Hermione looked more carefully, trying to find some distinguishing mark.  She was certain, despite the lack of anything indicating as such, that this was an image of Snape and Arial's daughter.  The features were all very babyish still, and it was difficult for Hermione to imagine them on a person who would be, she had calculated, her age.  

            In the picture, the baby was wearing a t-shirt and a diaper.  On the inside of her right knee was a large dark birthmark in the shape of an oval.  Hermione committed the image to memory.  Brown hair, green eyes, freckles, birthmark on the leg.  She looked it over one last time and then replaced it beneath the pensive, hoping that it was facing the same direction in which Snape had left it.  Glancing at the clock, she returned to the table where she had been chopping roots.  A few minutes later, the door to the office opened to reveal a Snape who looked as though he had never even been to bed.  

            He looked over her work and measured a few pieces.  Glaring at her, he told her that she could take her leave.  He seemed almost angry that she had been able to finish faster than he had anticipated.  She hoped that he didn't suspect her foul play.

            She headed back for her common room in the darkness, her mind churning with possibilities.  She felt as though she had to find this mysterious girl.  She didn't know how she was going to do it just yet, but at least she now had some idea of what she was looking for.

*           *           *

            "Hermione, why do you keep staring at every girl we pass in the hallway?  That's just plain weird."  Ron made a disgusted face at her as the two of them made their rounds during their free hour.  

            "I'm looking for someone," she said in a dignified way.

            "Who?"

            "I don't know."

            Ron looked at her as though she had gone mad.  "If you don't know who you're looking for, then how will you know when you find them?"

            Hermione stopped and glared daggers at him.  "If you must know," she lied, "I heard about a minor incident in one of the girl's toilets that happened yesterday.  A First Year told me that another student was trying out spells to clog up the sinks so the room would flood.  She didn't know the girls name, she could only give a description of her."

            Ron looked aghast.  "What's the matter with you," Hermione snapped.

            "I didn't know that girls liked to flood the toilets too," he mumbled.  His face was nearly as red as his hair, and Hermione began to wonder how many times he had taken part in an action similar to the one she had just falsely described.  "Anyway," Ron said halting her train of thought, "What did this Toilet Trasher look like?"

            "_Toilet Trasher_?  Ron, what is a Toilet Trasher?  Never mind."  Hermione shook her head.  Ron's creativity defiantly needed some direction.  "The girl said that she was somewhere between Fifth and Seventh year.  She had brown hair, green eyes, a turned up nose and freckles."

            "That narrows it down," Ron said sarcastically.

            Hermione was indignant.  "I think it does, Ron.  It couldn't be me or Ginny, or Cho Chang, or…"

            "Fine," Ron surrendered.  "It's just that there are a lot of girls at Hogwarts that have brown hair and green eyes."

            "Name one," said Hermione.

            Ron said nothing.  Hermione gave him a superior smirk, and then chided herself.  If she wanted help in finding Snape's daughter, she would have to be both discrete and polite.  "Sorry, Ron," she said.  "That was really mean of me."

            "It's okay," Ron shrugged.  "I bet detention with Snape will do that to you.  Have you been getting any sleep at all, Hermione?  You look like death warmed over."

            "A little," she said softly.

            "I, ah, I mean _we_, have been waiting up for you to come back from the dungeon every night.  Last night, it was well after two, and there was no sign of you.  You should report that great slimy git to McGonagall.  Really, Hermione.  It isn't right for him to keep you there like that.  Besides," he added, "I have to do all the prefect duties."

            Hermione knew that his concern for her was genuine, but she got the feeling that it would be far less intense if her punishment hadn't exponentially increased his workload.  "It's only for another five days," she shrugged.

            The two of them continued walking towards Gryffindor tower.  It had been an unusually quiet morning, and their rounds had finished without incident.  They still have thirty-eight minutes before the start of the next period.  

            "I think he has it in for you, Hermione.  Really, I do."

            "Ron," Hermione said in the tone of a parent explaining why a child had to eat their vegetables for the millionth time.  "I told you already this week that _Dumbledore_ gave me detention, not Snape."

            "I don't think Dumbledore would have given you so much detention if he knew how late it was going to be lasting every night though, do you?"

            She had to admit that he ha a point.  Still, she was glad that she had continued her punishment at least through the past night.  Snape had finally grown so weary of supervising her that he had left her alone long enough that she could see the photograph.  If her detentions had ended earlier, she knew that was no chance that he would have done such a thing, and therefore no chance that she would have seen the likeness of his daughter.  Still, she didn't want to look as though she were enjoying this series of punishments.  She didn't doubt that Ron would seek help for her on his own if he felt that that were the case.

            "Look, Ron.  It's just for a couple more days.  I'll stick this one out, then I promise if he ever takes advantage of his position like that again I'll be the first to tell McGonagall.  You won't even have to ask me to."  She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn't help but grin in return.

            "All right," he agreed.  "I still hate him, though."

            "Me too," said Hermione.  In her heart, though, she didn't know if those words e\were as true as they had once been.  Before he had just been her evil Potions Master, and object of scorn and dislike for most of the students.  Now, however, she had seen his humanity.  Though she certainly didn't like him that made him harder for her to hate.

*           *           *

            "I found this for you," Ginny Weasley said.  She walked into Hermione's room and sat down at her desk, a book clasped in her hands.  She looked around and giggled.  "how do you live in here?"

            Hermione actually looked at her room for the first time in ages.  She supposed that the situation would look strange to an outsider.  Her small third was very neat and orderly.  The bed was made, the books on the desk arranged by size and then alphabetically, all of her dresser drawers neatly closed, the closet covered by draperies and the dirty laundry hidden away from public view.  Across the room, however, it looked as though a whirlwind had come through.  Perhaps it was time to put her foot down again, as she did every so often.  Hermione liked Parvati and Lavender, and she did her best to live with them without quarrel, despite their differences.  The mess was taking over, though, and the only space she had left was the closet, bed and desk that she called her own.  "Patience," she answered Ginny.  "A lot of patience.  Anyway, what is that?"

            "Ron said that when the two of you were doing your rounds yesterday you were looking for some girl that tried to vandalize one of the bathrooms.  He said you gave him some sort of description, but he couldn't remember it.  He didn't think that you had found her yet, so I thought maybe I could help out."  Ginny smiled and handed her the book.

            It was a copy of last term's yearbook.  Hermione mentally shook her head, amazed at her own stupidity.  How could she have not thought of something so simple.  "Thanks, Gin," she said earnestly.  "This should help a lot."

            "What does she look like?' Ginny asked.  "I mean, maybe I could help you out.  She might be in my year, or she might play quidditch."

            Hermione described the girl to Ginny, careful not to give her anymore information than she had given Ron.  As long as she could keep the stories straight, and tell them in exactly the same way maybe she would manage to keep Snape's secret.  She also couldn't act overly excited if indeed she did stumble upon a possible candidate.  She was getting ahead of herself, though.  The chances of her finding that Snape's daughter had been hiding right beneath his nose for the past six years were small enough to make her investigation ridiculous.

            She spread the book out across her bed and she and Ginny began pouring over it, pointing out possibilities to each other.  At last they had gone through all of the present Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Years.  From all of the pictures, they had only three possible candidates: Hannah Abbot, a Sixth Year Hufflepuff, Karen Macao, a Ravenclaw in her Fifth Year, and Darcy Lester, a Sixth Year Ravenclaw.  Ginny grinned.  "It looks like the Ravenclaws were on the loose in the bathrooms."

            Hermione smiled slightly and wrote the names of the three girls down.  She felt slightly disappointed in her discovery.  Though the only one of the three that she knew well was Hannah Abbot, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of these girls was the daughter of Professor Snape.  She had been expecting someone far more menacing looking.  If Pansy Parkinson or Millicent Bulstrode, both Sixth Year Slytherins, had fit the description she would have been ecstatic.  

            She and Ginny made small talk for a little while before Hermione would have to venture down to the dungeons once again.  Tomorrow night would be her final night of punishment, at last.  She could hardly wait to get a decent night's sleep.  There simply weren't enough hours in the day when you have to spend at least six of them with Snape leering over your shoulder.

            "You're late, Miss Granger," he said when she arrived without even looking up.  

            "I'm sorry, Sir," she said.  She had been waylaid by a Second Year who was in hysterics because she couldn't find her Transfiguration homework.  She explained as much to Snape.

            "I believe that you are not the only Prefect in Gryffindor, Miss Granger.  There should be six of you, two for each of Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Year if my calculations are correct.  Though you may have learned from Mr. Potter that it is always necessary to play the hero, I assure you that his advice is unfounded."

            Hermione breathed deeply.  She wondered how Snape could hate his own nephew so much.  Everything that anyone did wrong always had to come back to Harry, according to the Potions Professor.  Harry, nor a pale imitation of Harry's heroics, had had nothing to do with her service to the girl.  She simply had grabbed hold of Hermione's robes, crying, and refused to let go until Ginny had pulled her off and promised to help her search for the misplaced assignment.

            She headed for the table where she expected the pile of roots to be laid out and waiting for her, but Snape stopped her.  "No, Miss Granger.  I think you have learned well enough the excitement of chopping roots.  Tonight, I have a different assignment for you."

            She stood stock still, filled with trepidation.  There was something sinister about the look n his face. She had a feeling that she would probably much prefer the monotony of chopping roots to whatever task he was about to give her.  There was something sinister about the look n his face. 

            "Sit down, Miss Granger," he said, sounding not at all kindly.  She did as she was told and he rose from behind the desk, his footsteps sounding loud and ominous as they approached her desk.  She tried to control her breathing and steady her vital functions, but she was finding it exceedingly difficult to do so.  He came closer and closer until she could almost hear his heart beating.  He put his greasy, hook-nosed face right in hers.  She tried not to cringe, but found she was unable to stop herself.  "I want to tell you a story," he said at last.  He backed away and only then did she let out the breath she hadn't noticed she had been holding.

            "Once there was a very nosy girl who talked to a very presumptuous Tree.  Owing to the influence of her House, no doubt, she felt that she could save the people of the world if only she knew something about them.  She wanted to start with her friends, but she quickly found out that it is indeed a tangled web we weave.  Instead, she decided to facilitate someone who was no friend to her, someone who has never had need of friends, and has no use for intrusive inquisition from a meddlesome child."  Hermione felt a lump of something she could only describe as fear rising in her throat.  She had seen Snape angry countless times before, but she had never witness his eyes growing so cold and diamond hard.  She felt as though the temperature in the room had lowered at least ten degrees, and she shivered involuntarily, though whether it was from the cold or the fear even she could not be certain.

            Snape resumed his narration in the same iniquitous tone that always lay just beneath the surface of his mellifluous speaking voice.  "She dredged up a dead man and called his son, whom I am anything but find of, my nephew.  This is strange, however.  I have never had a brother; I was an only child.  I cannot have a nephew.  As if this weren't enough, she returned to that disruptive piece of timber, and found out that I too, am human and that I have a past.  Again, though, her findings are strange."

            He stopped for a moment, and when he looked at her, Hermione felt as though she were going to pass out.  His eyes were haunted, and he looked as though he were little more than a shadow of a man.  His voice was so cold she felt as though her heart would surely freeze were she to listen for much longer.  "This time, she uncovered a woman and a child.  This woman is like the man she claimed was my brother, however.  I love no one.  I never have, I only thought I might have once, but that was a very long time ago, almost in another world.  I have no lost love, and, therefore, I have no child."

            He looked at her with more hatred and hurt than Hermione had ever in her life known.  "I am warning you to stay out of my business, Miss Granger.  Though you did not ever bother to ask, you know my side of the story now.  As you can see, I care about none of these skeletons you have unearthed, and I want nothing to do with a past I have left behind.  That was another time, another place, and another life, and I don't care to relive it."

            "But," Hermione said, not sure why she was protesting him but at the same time feeling as though she must.  "I only wanted to help."

            "I don't want your help," Snape said coldly.  "I thought that my little story would make that abundantly clear.  You don't think that we had this chat just so that I would have a chance to cry on your shoulder, do you?  I simply wanted to let you know that you advances are completely unwelcome, not to mention out of line.  The past is past, carved in stone, set and done.  I want nothing more to do with it."

            Hermione hung her head slightly, feeling the fear turn to a deep sadness, but not quite comprehending this wash of emotions.  

            "Now, get out of my office," Snape said.  "I need some sleep, as babysitting you has kept me up all night for nearly two weeks on end.  Don't come back tomorrow.  I've been punished enough already.


	7. Chapter 7

Snape's revelation that he wanted none of her help had come as no surprise to Hermione.  She walked quickly down the corridor, scheming ways to search for a daughter whose name she didn't know, whose mother was a mystery woman named Arial, and whose entire life was little more than a great enigma.  All she knew was that she had brown hair, green eyes, freckles, and would be about sixteen years old.  And she did not have Snape's nose.

            She decided that she would have to be even more discrete in her search now, so as not to arouse Snape's suspicions.  She had a feeling that he would be carefully monitoring her activity, even if this supervision came only in the subtlest of ways.  She would have to exercise great care not to make him aware of her actions.

            She pondered her next steps.  It seemed the most logical thing for her to do was to start with the three possible candidates she and Ginny had discovered in the yearbook.  She wondered what exactly she would do to find out the information that she needed about them.  Even the questions seemed like a point of deliberation.  It was all quite frustrating, really.

            She walked through the portrait hole, deeply lost in thought.  The fire in the hearth of Gryffindor tower was growing dim, but she felt a smile creep across her face at the sight of Ron, Harry, and Ginny, all of whom appeared to be waiting up for her.  Ron jumped to his feet.  "Hermione, you're back early," he exclaimed.

            "Snape said that he was tired of being punished by punishing me.  He told me not to come back tomorrow night."

            "That's great!"  Ron said.

            Hermione looked at him incredulously.  "I guess so," she said.  "I mean, I didn't want to go back there, but it wouldn't have been a big deal if I had had to.  It was just one more night, after all."

            Harry rolled his eyes.  "Hermione, don't you ever mark anything in your calendar that doesn't have to do with studying or homework."

            "No."

            "Tomorrow's another Hogsmeade trip," Ginny explained.  "Now that Snape gave up on your detentions, you can go."

            Hermione smiled slightly.  She could use a trip out of the castle.  Maybe a day off would help her to think better.  She had a slight moment of gratitude to Snape.  Students serving punishments for any kind of disciplinary infraction weren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade.  She could also look for brunette girls with green eyes and freckles while they were there.

            The other three began planning their day while Hermione began scheming how to find Snape's daughter.  Suddenly, the task seemed very daunting.  She could feel her head throbbing as she wondered how she would know if she did find the girl.  

            "Hermione, what's wrong?" Ron asked, his mood abruptly changing from lighthearted to genuinely concerned.  

            "Nothing," she said quietly.  She couldn't tell them.  She bit her lip, trying to hold the words back.  It would be so much easier if she could just get some help.  For all their childishness, Harry and Ron, she knew, would remain dutifully silent and Ginny could always be counted on to keep a secret.  After all, no one aside from the four of them, Snape and Dumbledore were any the wiser about Harry's relationship with Snape.

            "Hermione," Ginny said, "you know that you can tell us."

            Could she tell them?  What would she think if she were in Snape's position?  It was bad enough for one of his students to know, but for four?  She knew what he would think. Still, even after his assertions that he had no desire for either family or friends, Hermione felt that if he could only have the chance to be a part of his daughter's life, he would think differently.

            "Did he do something to you," Harry said, his eyes clouding over with anger.  "If he did.."

            "Oh stop it," Hermione said.  "He didn't do anything to me."  She could tell them.  It would be so easy just to let the little secret slide out.  She needed help.  She had to know, and she didn't think she could do it on her own.  She didn't even know where to begin.

            Of course there was a more reasonable side to this.  If she didn't know where to begin and couldn't accomplish her objective without assistance, perhaps she should just leave well enough alone.  She considered that.  That was what Snape said he wanted.  It was so tempting though.  She could feel her hands flexing as she felt the possibilities course through her body.  Just thinking of the quest that could be ahead was like an adrenaline rush of sorts.  A mystery that required intensive thoughtful research was right up her ally.

            The three who had been waiting for her return sat close to her, staring as if in anticipation of any word that would come pouring from her mouth.  They were hanging on her every breath.  For that moment, four worlds converged into one, all waiting for Hermione to speak.  They wanted her to share in the secret that she held within.  She needed them to help her extract these skeletons from the long shut closet.  Who was she to deny want and need?

            Her voice trembled, and she found herself unable to speak.  Was she really going to do it?  For a moment, she felt nothing but trepidation.  It seemed wrong, somehow to make Snape's private life public.  Even so, she could hardly stand to hold it inside any longer.  They would find out eventually anyway, she argued with herself.  Her lie about vandalism to the lavatory could only last so long.  What would she say when she began searching beyond the walls of the school?  How many stories could she balance at once?  The essence of veracity was in it's clarity of detail.  She had a feeling her stories would become murkier and murkier, time and human error melding them together, letting everyone know that something was not quite right.

            "Snape has a daughter," she said suddenly.  After she said the words, she was not entirely certain that she had meant to, and for a brief moment wished even that she could take them back.  What was done was done, however.  She had long since stopped using the time-turner.  She took a deep breath.  She would have to deal with the consequences of her actions now.  "He doesn't know her.  He doesn't know her name or where she lives or whom she lives with or even where she lives.  Her mother's name is Arial Dora, but I suppose that that doesn't really mean anything.  She should be about sixteen.  She has brown hair, green eyes, and freckles."

            The three of them just started at her as though she had suddenly sprouted an additional head.  Hermione felt sick to her stomach.  She shouldn't have told them.  Why had she talked herself into taking the easy way out?  She had chosen her burden, and she should have forced herself to bear it alone.  "Please," she said, "you can't tell anyone."

            Ginny shook her head, as did Harry.  "No way we would, 'Mione," said Ron.  He touched her arm and then jerked his hand away, blushing.

            "I suppose you're looking for her, then?" Ginny said.

            "Yes.  No one really did anything to the bathroom.  I was just using that as an excuse to look for someone and to get help finding them without having to do any explaining.  I was thinking, though, that I wouldn't know how to recognize this girl even if I saw her."  That wasn't entirely true, but she wasn't going to let them in on everything she knew.  There was the matter of the circular birthmark on the girl's leg, but somehow she felt it would be in poor taste to simply walk up to someone and ask if she could have a look at their leg.

            "We'll come up with something," Ron said confidently.  Hermione doubted that he felt as certain as his voice sounded, but she didn't say anything.  She appreciated any help she could get.

            "I just don't know what to say when I see someone who might be a likely candidate," she said.  "I mean, it would be awfully odd to have someone walk up to you and ask what your mother's name is.  That's all I really have to go on right now."

            "Was her mother a witch?"  Ginny asked.

            "Yes.  She went to Beaux Batons, and the Tree said that Arial left Snape because her father held a huge opposition to the Dark Arts.  I would think that he would have had to have been a wizard also, then."

            "Well, at least we could ask if the girls we found are muggle born.  If any of them are, that would eliminate them," Ginny reasoned.

            "I suppose," said Hermione.  It was a start, but not a very good one.  It was better than walking up to students she hardly knew and asking them their mother's name, though.

            Ginny excused herself and headed off to bed, telling her older friends and siblings that she would see them all in the morning.  Ron too headed off to his dormitory.  Hermione and Harry were left alone in the common room.

            "It's very odd," Harry said.

            "What is?" Hermione asked after he didn't say anything else.

            "All of the time I was growing up, I was stuck with people who couldn't have cared less about me and hated me for what I was.  I didn't have anyone else.  Now, thanks to you, all of these relatives I don't even want keep popping up.  Not only is Snape my uncle, I also have an aunt of sorts and a cousin."

            Hermione didn't know what to say.

            "I just wish you would have left that Tree alone sometimes is all.  I think my life was better before I knew I was related to Snape and whoever his daughter is."  Harry looked somewhat resentful, and she tried to ignore the blade of anger that came knifing through her again as it seemed to do so easily these days.

            She thought about explaining, yet again, that she had been trying to help him by talking to the Tree, and that she had intended not to tell him in the first place; he had been the one to barge in one her and Snape. She decided against it.  _What's the point_?  She thought.  They had just tentatively renewed their friendship, and though she still wasn't sure that she forgave him for his childish behavior she didn't want to demolish the fragile relationship they had so recently rebuilt.

            Hermione patted him slightly on the back and stood to retire to her bed.  She didn't have anything to say to him right now.  She wasn't sorry, and she didn't understand how he thought that all of his selfish moroseness was going to improve the situation.  She thought it was best for her to just leave and avoid another battle.  It was late, and she was tired.

            "Hermione?" Harry called just before she began to ascend the stairs.

            "Yes?"

            "I want to help, it's just hard, you know?'

            "Goodnight, Harry," she said.  She could only understand in a vague way, but in this case she considered that an advantage.  Harry's past wasn't something she ever wanted to be able to identify with.

*           *           *

            The next day dawned bright and sunny.  Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry met for breakfast and then headed to the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade for the day.  "I have to do a project for my muggle studies class next month," Ginny said.  "I'll just act like I'm going to start working on it right now and that I'm gathering information.  I can ask anyone we see who might be a possible candidate for Snape's daughter if they're muggle born.  I'll just say that I'm doing a survey about something."

            "Good idea," Hermione said.  Though she still felt terrible that she had been weak willed enough to let Snape's secret slip out, she was grateful that she would have help getting to the bottom of this mystery.  It would have been terribly difficult to do it alone, and even worse would have been to always have to make up excuses for her seemingly peculiar actions.

            "I can't believe Snape has a daughter," Ron hooted cheerfully.  "It just doesn't seem possible, does it?  He's so terrible.  It's probably a good thing she didn't know him when she was a baby.  Imagine how frightening it would be to wake up and see him standing over your crib."

            "Ron!"  Hermione was horrified at how insensitive he was.  "That is the most unsympathetic thing I have ever heard you say.  He didn't choose not to be a part of his daughter's life!  Maybe he would have been an entirely different man if Arial hadn't been so horrible to him and left him!"

            Ron blushed.  "He's still horrible," he murmured, though his tone had little conviction in it.

            They finished the ride in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.  Hermione still had her doubts over the whole process.  She didn't even know where to start, really.  Everything was so complicated, and it was made even worse by the fact that she didn't even know if she was doing what was really the right thing, or if she was acting simply to abate her own curiosity.  What if Snape still wanted nothing to do with his daughter?  What I they found her and it traumatized her top know that Snape was her father?  What if Arial came back and hurt him again?  Suddenly, she felt as though she may have taken on something that was far less clear cut than she had originally envisioned it to be.

            The two boys ran off to Zonko's almost immediately.  Ron made the excuse that he and Harry would just be in the way while Ginny was faking her interviews.  They swore that they would help out later, and arranged to meet the girls in the Three Broomsticks in three and a half hours.  Hermione rolled her eyes, but was actually grateful that they had left.  The two of them weren't always the most subtle or tactful people she knew.  She shuddered as she imagined them staring down anyone her and Ginny approached to interview, looking for traces of Snape.

            "What are you going to do if you do find Snape's daughter?" Ginny asked as soon as she and Hermione were alone.

            "I was just thinking about that in the carriage," Hermione admitted ruefully.  "To tell you the truth, I don't know.  Maybe Snape's right, as much as I hate to say so.  Maybe I would be better off just to leave things the way they are and forget everything that the Tree ever told me about anything."

            "I don't think so," said Ginny.  "I didn't like the idea of you talking to that thing in the first place, but now that you have you have to deal with what it said to you.  Do you really think that the right thing to do would just be to walk away now?"  Hermione shrugged, and Ginny looked appalled.  "Hermione, I know that you really don't think that.  If you did, you wouldn't have told Ron and Harry and me about Snape's secret.  You would have kept it to yourself and forgotten about it."

            Hermione sighed.  The way she felt was very complicated, which always made for difficulty when putting something into words.  "If it were me, I would want to know," she said.  "I just don't know how Snape is going to feel about the whole thing.  In case you haven't noticed, he and I are quite different."

            Ginny smiled.  "I have noticed that Hermione.  You're right, you and Snape wouldn't react to the same situations in the same ways.  I think, though, that if he were given a chance to meet his daughter he would think differently.  You said this morning that Arial left after she told him she was pregnant.  He never got the chance to know his daughter.  It's not the same thing as if _he _had been the one to leave.  Maybe he just needs a chance."

            Hermione still had her doubts.  How she wished she had kept her big mouth shut!  "Why was he so adamant that he didn't want me searching for anymore answers, then?"

            Ginny thought for a moment.  "You know, as much as we all hate Snape, he is a person.  Maybe he didn't want to think that you were out there searching.  Maybe he didn't want to get his hopes up because, realistically, there's not much of a chance of us ever finding his daughter.  Maybe he doesn't want to be hurt again."

            "He said he wants to be alone."

            "Maybe he wouldn't think that if he had somebody he thought was worth being with in his life."  Ginny stared thoughtfully at Hermione, and the older girl nodded.

            "Okay, then.  I guess we should start looking," Hermione said.  "I have a feeling that this is going to take a while.

*           *           *

Harry and Ron had already grabbed a table and had the butterbeers waiting by the time Hermione and Ginny arrived at the Three Broomsticks that afternoon.  "Did you find anything," Ron asked eagerly.  Harry looked as though he hoped that they would say no.  Hermione wasn't going to disappoint the latter.

            "Nothing," she said.  'We went through all three of the girls we saw in the yearbook.  The two Ravenclaws were muggleborn.  Hannah Abbot can trace her family back, on both sides, for generations.  She also says that she looks just like her father's sister.  

            "How'd you get that out of her?"  asked Ron.  "I thought Gin was just going to say that she was doing a survey."

            "Hannah likes to talk," said Ginny.  "As soon as I said 'family', she was off and running."

            "Oh."

            "Harry, what's the matter," Hermione asked.  

            "Nothing."

            "you look upset," Ginny agreed.

            "It's nothing, I said."  Harry growled.  "I just think that this is a stupid waste of time.  I can tell you, from personal experience, no one in their right mind would want to find out that they were related to Snape."

            "Harry, come on.  This is different," Ron chimed in.  "This is his daughter, mate!  Hermione told us this morning that Arial ran away to live with a Dark Wizard!  Maybe she would rather have Snape as her father.  He might actually be better."

            Harry looked incredulous.  "So now you think Snape isn't a Dark Wizard?"

            This conversation always exasperated Hermione.  "Harry, for the last time, he's in the Order.  Dumbledore trusts him.  He may have been a Deatheater once, but he isn't anymore.  You know that as well as I do."  Harry glared, but said nothing more.  "Anyway," Hermione continued, having changed her earlier tune after her talk with Ginny, "I think we have to find his daughter.  Or at least we have to try."

            "think about it, mate," Ron said enthusiastically.  "You'll have a cousin other than Dudley!"

            "Great," said Harry in a way that conveyed the fact that he thought there was nothing great about it.

            "he's hopeless,' Ginny said, waving Harry aside.  "Let him pout into his butterbeer.  We have to think about our next step."

            Ron looked torn between ignoring his very best friend and working on a solution to finding Snape's daughter with the two girls.  In the end, however, Harry's gloomy mood drove him away from his attempts to cheer him.

            "I think we should get in contact with Beaux batons," Hermione suggested.  She had been thinking heavily about doing just that the night before, and wanted to get an opinion on the matter from her friends.  "we should ask for any information they have concerning Arial."

            "That's a great idea," Ginny said.  "Maybe they have a way to get in contact with Arial herself, or we could at least find out who her parents are!  If we could find that out, they might be able to tell us how to reach her."

            "She ran away from them, Ginny.  Remember?" Ron said.

            "Ron, that was nearly twenty years ago.  Things could have changed between now and then."  Ginny scowled distastefully at her older brother.

            Hermione pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and began writing a request for information to the Beaux Batons School of Magic.  When she had finished, the others read it over and pronounced it fit for sending.  While the others finished their butterbeers,. Hermione headed for the owl post office.  She paid out the fee, and sent an owl on its way.  

            "Now all we have to do is wait," Ginny said cheerfully upon her return.  To Hermione, she seemed overly confident that this was the definitive solution to solving the mystery.  Hermione had a feeling there was still a long road ahead.

            Harry spoke up for the first time since Ginny had waved him off back in the Three Broomsticks.  "I hope we're doing the right thing," he said.

            No one answered him.  Ron and Ginny looked absolutely certain that what they were doing was justified.  Hermione, like Harry, had her doubts but still felt that there was nothing really wrong with their actions, and that all things would work for the best if their investigation led them to anywhere.  Besides that, she felt that Harry really didn't have much room to talk about the immorality of sneaking about behind people's backs searching for information.  In her opinion, that was more than a trifle hypocritical.

*           *           *

            Hermione sighed into her glass of pumpkin juice, waiting for the owl post to arrive.  It had been nearly two weeks since she had sent her inquiry to Beaux batons, yet she still had not received any reply.  Her hope of ever finding Snape's daughter was growing increasingly thin.

            Suddenly, she heard the flutter of wings as a bevy of owls flew into the great hall.  Eagerly, she looked up, hoping that today would at last be the day.  She was not disappointed.  "Open it," Ginny whispered loudly, her voice ripe with impatience.

            "Not here," Hermione said.  "I can't open this in front of everyone.  Somebody might see it by accident, or it might get confiscated."

            "Why would anything you have get confiscated, Granger?"

            That voice was like nails on a chalkboard.  Hermione had hoped that after the punishment McGonnagle had given Malfoy he would just leave her alone.  He had succeeded in doing so until just then.

            "Get away from our table, Malfoy," Ron sneered.  He still hadn't gotten over Malfoy's shouting out about he and Hermione.  "You have to be a Gryffindor to sit here."

            "Why would I want to sit with the Weasel King and his court?" Malfoy looked up and down the length of his table.  "Pathetic, really.  I was just passing by monitoring the distribution of the mail, sacrificing my breakfast to ensure peace and order like any _good_prefect would. I heard Granger say that she got something that would be confiscated if she opened it here.  I think that maybe I should report that to my head of house, don't you?"

            "I think that you should mind your own business."  Ron stood up, his knuckles clenched against the table.  "Go back over to Slytherin where you belong.  I don't know why you decided to come sneaking around over here, but get lost."  Ron was nearly shouting now, and Hermione shot him a look that told him to tone it down.

            "Gentlemen, is there a problem?"  Malfoy froze at the sound of that rigid voice.  Hermione had no doubt that he had intended, for whatever reason, Draco had intended to cause a confrontation between Ron and himself.  She could also see, by the look of surprise on his face, that he had intended for Snape to come and clear things up.  He hadn't counted on McGonnagle reaching them first.

            "Malfoy came sneaking over here to see what we got in the mail, Professor," Harry said.  "We asked him to leaver and he wouldn't.  He just wants to cause trouble."

            McGonnagle turned sharply to Draco.  "Mr. Malfoy, why aren't you at your own table?  It is not your job to monitor student mail."

            "Granger said that whatever she received would be confiscated if she opened it," Malfoy said, changing the subject.

            "Go back to your table, Mr. Malfoy," McGonnagle repeated.  Malfoy walked off, glaring at Ron over his shoulder, then smirking evilly at Hermione.  "What do you have, Miss Granger?"  

            "It's just a letter, Professor.  There's nothing illegal in it.  I just don't want to open it here.  's very private, and I don't want anyone else reading it."

            McGonnagle stared down at the envelope which had the Beaux Batons crest embossed on it.  She frowned slightly.  "Miss granger, if the curriculum here at Hogwarts is not difficult enough for you, I assure you that we can make some sort of arrangement.  I would like very much for you to graduate from this school.  I will see to it personally that you are challenged enough,"

            Hermione wanted to laugh.  "It's not that, Professor.  I was just corresponding with my pen pal.  My parents want me to learn to speak French more fluently, and I thought that the best way for me to do that would be to write to another Witch living in France."

            McGonnagle looked very relieved.  "Oh, I see."

            Hermione continued on with her lie, " I just didn't want anyone else to get all of the information in here.  I asked her for some advice, and some of the things she wrote might be very personal.  It could be very embarrassing if it were read by anyone other than me."

            McGonnagle seemed satisfied with that answer.  "Very well then, Miss Granger.  I will talk to Professor Snape about Mr. Malfoy."

            "Thank you."

            Hermione rose from the table, the other three following suit.  She headed back for Gryffindor tower with Ron and Harry.  Ginny had class during their free period, and Hermione absolutely refused to allow her to skip it.  "The letter will still be here when you're done," she had said.  "Besides, I'm a prefect.  I have to write up students who skip class, I can't be an instrument in their being able to skip."  Ginny had pouted for a moment, and then headed for her classes with the rest of the Gryffindor Fifth Years.

            They decided that the best place to open this would be in Ron and Harry's bedroom.  They looked all around, making sure that Neville, Seamus and Dean were no where to be found.  Hermione locked the door, and then slowly and carefully tore open the envelope from Beaux Batons.

            Hermione stared down at the printed words.  She understood that there was only so much the school could give her because of the regulations regarding confidentiality.  Still, there was little here that would help her.  Arial's mother was a muggle.  Her father's name was being withheld for her safety.  She had graduated first in her class.  She had never attended any of the class reunions.  The last known address for her was in Romania.  Hermione shared a disappointed look with the other two boys.  It seemed as though they had reached another dead end.  

            "That's it?" Ron said incredulously, grabbing the envelope from Hermione.  "There has to be something else!  They couldn't have sent that owl back with nothing.  This is rubbish!"  He pried open the sides of the envelope and began vigorously shaking it.  He held it up over his head to peer inside and a small square fell out and hit him in the eye.  "Ow!" he cried, cupping his face in his hands.

            "Quit your whining, Ron," Harry said, bending over to pick up the object which had slid underneath his bed and out of sight.  He held it up in the air, staring at it.

            "What is it," asked Hermione, whose was torn between curiosity and sympathy for Ron.  "Ron, are you quite all right?"

            "Fine.  I _love_ it when my eyes nearly gets poked out."

            "It's a picture of Arial from her Seventh Year."  Ron stopped whimpering and leapt off the floor, all thoughts of his damaged ocular organ forgotten.  Hermione moved in even closer.  The two of them were nearly suffocating Harry.  

            "She's quite beautiful, isn't she?" Hermione said after a long moment.  Arial had long cascading blonde curls and light blue eyes that shone with a vivid intelligence.  She had a hard look about her, if you looked closely enough, as though she had seen too much and would have rather forgotten most of it.  Even so, she seemed almost to shine.

            Ron and Harry looked as though they had been struck speechless.  Ron looked at Harry jealously.  "How come I don't have any aunts that look like that?"

            "She's not my aunt, not really," Harry said crossly.  "What I want to know is how _Snape_ could get a girl like that to fall in love with him.  I thought that she would be all greasy, like him."

            Hermione gave him a reproachful look, but, truthfully, she had been thinking much the same thing.  This girl looked much different than what she had been expecting.  She knew, though, that looks could be deceiving.

            "Anyone who saw her would remember her," Ron said.  "I guess that's something."

            Hermione had to agree.  "Well," she said at last, "I guess that's a start."

*           *           *

            The three of them showed Ginny the picture of Arial that evening in the Gryffindor common room.  "She is beautiful," Ginny admitted.  "I think that you guys are right.  At least someone might remember seeing her."

            "I think that we should make some copies of this and send to a few people in the Order," Hermione suggested.  "We'll tell them to keep things fairly quiet so Snape won't find out.  They have people all over the world.  Maybe someone has seen her."

            "I'll make some for mum to give out right away," Ginny said.

            "We could ask some of the teachers, too," Ron chimed in.

            Hermione frowned.  'I don't know if that's such a good idea, Ron.  At least Snape isn't always doing things for the Order.  In fact, I think he tries to avoid the headquarters as much as possible.  If we start passing this around the school, he's bound to at least hear about it even if he doesn't see it. I think we should hold off a little on that."

            Ron looked slightly wounded, but agreed.

            Hermione and Ron left Ginny and Harry behind to copy the pictures as they headed out to do their rounds.  Harry seemed far more acquiescent to helping them in their quest after he had seen the picture of Arial.  Hermione didn't dare remind him that that picture was twenty years old, and that a lot of things could have changed between now and then.

            "Good thing I saw that picture," Ron congratulated himself yet again.  Hermione tried not to roll her eyes.  All day he had been hinting for her to acknowledge that, had it not been for him, the picture would not have been found so quickly.  She had grudgingly done so a few times, but was quickly growing weary of this game.  She ignored him.

            "I wonder what McGonnagle said to Snape about Malfoy.  I hope he at least got a few points taken away from Slytherin."

            "Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Ron, "That Malfoy suddenly decided that your mail was worth reading?"

            "No."

            "Why?"

            "When I went to the post office in Hogsmeade to send the owl to Beaux Batons, Malfoy was in there checking on the rate of postage for having his robes sent home.  He wanted his mother and father to buy him new ones, because he said that the houseelves don't do a good enough job of cleaning the ones he already has.  He was telling Crabbe that if he let his parents see the state his robes were in they would be sure to provide him with fresh ones, and would talk to Dumbledore about the laundry service here at school.  I told him to get a life, and he got angry with me.  I tried to hide the letter from him, but he grabbed it out of my hands and read the address it was being shipped to.  I'm not surprised that he wanted to find out what the reply was so he could see what the letter had been about."

            "Oh.  I though maybe Snape had something to do with it."  Ron looked almost disappointed.

            Hermione turned to him witheringly.  "I don't know about you, Ron, but I think that it's far better for Malfoy to have come up with that little scheme on his own than to have had Snape put him up to it.  As this point, that would mean that Snape has some idea as to what we're doing.  If he finds out, we might as well call the whole thing off, because he won't let us get much further."

            "I didn't mean that I wanted him to know."

            "Then why did you act like it was such a great disappointment to find out that he had nothing to do with it?'

            For this he had no answer.  The two of them walked along in silence, catching only one pair of rule breakers for having a public display of affection in the hallway after hours.  Hermione wrote up two slips, one for the PDA and one for the curfew violation.  Dean Thomas tried to argue that his kissing Cho Chang couldn't really be called 'public' since only the Prefects had seen them, but Hermione would have none of it.

            "Let's not tell Harry about that," Ron suggested after the couple had headed their separate ways.  Hermione, though she knew he would find out sooner or later.  Ron looked at his watch and suggested that they head back.  

            Hermione caught Ron's eyes as they were walking back and felt herself flush.  "What are you looking at?" she snapped.

            Ron turned red.  "Nothing."

             "I saw you looking at me."

            "I wasn't looking at you.  I was thinking."

            "What were you thinking about?"

            He turned even redder, if such a thing were possible.  "Nothing."

            Hermione sniffed, but said no more until she caught him staring a few minutes later in the hallways just before they reached the common room.  She stopped dead in her tracks.  "Is there something wrong, Ron?" she asked.  Though her voice was cold there was a thread of concern woven through it.  

            "No," he said, staring at his hands as though he were seeing them for the first time.

            "Then would you please stop staring at me?"

            He nodded his head.  "I didn't know I was."  He stepped towards her, and then quickly moved back.

            "What are you doing?"

            Again he moved in close to her, his face bright red and his eyes filled with uncertainty.  She felt herself swallow, and licked her lips, as they had suddenly gone very dry.  "What are you doing?" she asked again.

            He took one step closer until they were standing face to face, their noses almost touching.,  Hermione wasn't sure if the heart she felt beating was Ron's or her own.  He looked so scared and lonely.  Impulsively, she reached out towards him.  As she leaned in, she felt him do the same.  Her eyes closed and her lips met his quickly and softly.

            Ron pulled away as though he had been shot.  "I'm sorry, Hermione!  I didn't mean to," he said.  He seemed as though he were about to cry.  

            "It's okay, Ron."  It was okay.  She was scared for what might happen next, but, after all this time, it was okay.  She hadn't even known that that was what she wanted until it had happened, but now she felt foolish for all of the time that she had failed to see it.

            "No," he said, turning away from her.  "I didn't even ask.  I just…I saw them back there and, I don't know."

            "It's okay, she repeated, wanting to make him understand.  She knew he was trying to spare the two of them, but wished he wouldn't.  he was hurting her more by denying what he had done than he ever could have through the action.

            "I'm sorry," he said again.

            "Please, don't be," she said, trying to make him understand.

            He didn't say anything else, just turned away from her and headed through the portrait hole, giving her no choice but to follow.

            "Anything interesting happen?" Ginny asked after they returned.

            Ron failed to remember that his sister always asked the same question every night after they had finished their rounds.  He bristled and suddenly seemed to become even more nervous than he had been out in the corridor.  "No.  Nothing interesting.  What makes you ask?  Why would you ask if something interesting happened?  Does it look like anything interesting happened?  Do you think being a prefect is an interesting job?  I didn't see anything interesting at all.  Why do have any interest in being interested in anything interesting?'

            "Maybe you should go to bed," Ginny said looking both confused and concerned.

            Ron scowled at her, and then turned away without saying another word.  "I think I'll go too," Harry said.  "He's acting as though he's gone mad."

            "What's wrong with him, Ginny asked once the two boys had headed up their dormitory stairs and out of sight.

            Hermione didn't quite know what to say.  Ginny was her friend, so there was little more she wanted to do than to tell her about the kiss that she and Ron had shared, how happy it had made her feel, how upset she was that he kept apologizing for it, and her fears about how their friendship might suffer.  On the other hand, Ron was Ginny's brother, and until he was ready to tell her, and Harry, what had happened between the two of them she thought she had better keep her mouth shut.  She settled for the path of least resistance, knowing she could trust Ginny with a secret.  "We wrote up Dean Thomas and Cho Chang for kissing in the hallway.  Ron's worried about Harry finding out."

            Ginny nodded.  "My lips are sealed."

            "Did you finish making copies of the picture?" Hermione asked, deciding the wisest course of action would be to change the subject before the information about her and Ron came slipping out unbidden.  Her mind was such a mixture of emotions that she could hardly think, but she willed herself to focus on the next step in their project.  Whether Ron had kissed her or not, they had a girl to find.

            "Yes.  We made seven of them.  I thought I would send one to my mum and dad, and one each to Charlie and Bill, since Charlie's in Romania, and Bill works for the Wizarding Bank, you know Gringotts.  I was also going to send one to Fred and George.  They've been getting a lot of business in their shop lately.  You never know, she might have come through."

            "That takes care of four of them," Hermione counted.  She wanted to make sure that everywhere these pictures went they would be received by hands that wouldn't make the mistake of presenting them to Snape.  "What are you going to tell them when you send them the photo?"

            "I'm going to tell them that we found this photo folded up with an assignment that you received back from Snape.  I'm going to ask them if they've ever seen her before or if they know anything about her.  I'll say that we tried to ask Snape and he got very upset, so they shouldn't say anything to them.  I'll tell them that I think it's his long lost love, and we want to help him find her."

            "I guess that will work," said Hermione.  She wasn't exactly certain how much she liked the plausibility of that explanation, but she couldn't come up with anything better, so it would simply have to do.

            "What about the rest of them?'

            "I don't know," Hermione admitted.  "I was going to ask you and Harry if you had come up with any ideas."

            "I thought maybe Tonks, since she's an auror.  Harry thought of giving one to Dobby."  Hermione didn't know what to think about that, and it must have shown on her face, because Ginny held up her hand.  "He had a good point, Hermione.  You told us that the Tree said that Arial ran off to live with a Dark Wizard after she left Snape and ran away with her family.  Dobby used to be the Malfoy's house elf.  Who would no dark witches and wizards better than him?"

            "We don't know that _she_ was into the dark arts herself," Hermione said.

            "Oh please," said Ginny.  You don't think that someone like you or I could live with someone like Crabbe or Malfoy, or, for that matter, Snape and enjoy it if we weren't into the dark arts to, do you?"

            "No," Hermione admitted.  "You're right.  So Dobby is a good one."

            "Yeah," said Ginny.  "The way he worships Harry all we have to do is have Harry show it to him and tell the little guy not to say a word about the photo to anyone."

            "And then what about Tonks?'

            "I guess We'll have to tell her the same thing we tell my family, seeing as they're all in the Order together.  I don't think it would be a good idea to have separate stories circulating through people who are so close."

            "Probably not," Hermione was forced to agree.  

            "So, that leaves one," said Ginny.

            "I have an idea about that one," said Hermione.  "How about Dumbledore?"

            Ginny nodded, and then frowned.  "I though you said no teachers, though.  You didn't want the word getting back to Snape.  Besides, he already reprimanded you for digging into Snape's personal life."

            "I'm just going to tell him that I found this picture stuck in the pages of a book on the magic Schools of Europe.  I'll tell him I'm curious about who it is.  That way, I won't have t give it to him, and I don't see any reason why he would ever tell Snape about it.  Dumbledore knows everyone.  He might even have known Arial's father, since he was against the Dark Side."

            "I guess that takes care of everything, then," said Ginny.

            "Yeah, thanks for your help.'

            "It's not a problem," Ginny shrugged.  "I am glad you told us about this, though.  You would have had an awfully hard time doing it alone."

            "I'm still not sure I should be doing it at all," said Hermione.  "But I guess they're no turning back now."

            Ginny shook her head.  "No, I'm afraid there isn't."

*           *           *

            Hermione walked down to the common room early, hoping to head off to the Great hall for breakfast before anyone else could get there.  She felt as though she would be doing Ron a favor if she kept him from seeing her for a while.  She was still hurt by the way he had continually apologized fro kissing her the night before, but now she hoped that he would come around, given a little time.  She was worried about losing his friendship, but, now, she felt as though a relationship between the two of them might be worth a try.

            "Hello, Hermione," a voice said stiffly from the couch before the fireplace."

            "Ron!"  She wanted to run up to him and hug him, but she restrained herself, feeling that doing such a thing might be a bit presumptuous of her.  

            "Did you sleep well?"  He rose up to walk with her, and suddenly she felt herself growing uncomfortable.  His formality was too stiff for her tastes.  She preferred Ron the way he had been before, and hoped that his present demeanor was not a sign of even more troubles to come.

            "I suppose," she said.                                       

            "That's good.  That's very, very good."

            She looked at him in askance, but said nothing more.

            The continued through the hallway in silence.  She was growing more uncomfortable with every step and was itching to tell him how she felt, but she wasn't entirely certain how to approach the matter.  At last, he broke the silence.  "About what happened last night, I'm really sorry."

            "Ron, please don't be sorry," she said, stopping and turning to face him.  "I'm _not_ sorry.  You don't have to be."

            He looked as though he didn't quite know what to make of this news.  "I just…it sort of overwhelmed me, you know."

            "I know."

            "It all happened very fast."

            "Yes, it did."

            "I'm not really sure I meant to."

            "Don't say that."

            He took a deep breath.  "So, what happened, it was okay?"

            She smiled.  "Yes, Ron, it was okay."

            He nodded and then carried on walking.  He looked as though he wanted to say something, but she didn't pressure him.  At last he spoke again just before they st down to eat.  "So it would be okay if I did it again sometime, maybe?"

            He said it so fast and so quietly that she had to strain to understand him, but she smiled when she did.  "That would be perfect," she said.

            Ron smiled at her, and ate his breakfast.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: In case anyone didn't see the note that I posted last time, I have combined the previous chapters as follows: 1-4: chapter 1, 5-8: chapter 2, 9-12: chapter3, 13-16: chapter 4, 17-20: chapter 5, 21-24: chapter 6.  Chapter 25, which was posted earlier this week is now chapter 7.  The new chapter is chapter 8.  Each new posting following this change will be its own chapter unless otherwise noted.  I have also tried to correct many of the spelling mistakes which have plagued the document from the very beginning.  I don't think that I caught them all, but it was a start.  Thanks to those of you who _kindly_ pointed the mistakes out.  

A/N II: The plot thickens again, but it's not what you think.  As I said when I first posted the first chapter: assume nothing.  And, as I said when I posted chapter 25, which is now chapter 7, earlier this week, in the words of the window washer, all will be made clear (eventually).  Until then sit back, hang in there, and enjoy.  I don't know if destiny exists IRL, but it certainly does for JKR's characters in my story.  At least, they all have a general purpose and they are all headed in a general direction.  It just takes some time and some finagling to point them that way.  Thanks for reading!

A/N III: I _still_ own nothing.  Boy, that gets old really fast.

*           *           *

            Ron accompanied Hermione as far as the steps leading to Dumbledore's office before she asked him to let her finish her mission alone.  She had some trepidation about showing Dumbledore the picture of Arial.  She knew that he was nothing if not a perceptive man, and felt that he would have little trouble seeing through the lie that she had fabricated to make her possession of the picture seem both plausible and innocent.  If trouble was going to come her way, she didn't want Ron becoming an innocent victim.

            Ron looked as though he didn't know how to say goodbye to her.  She could tell from the look of concentration on his face he was searching through every scenario and contemplating the ramifications of each.  She kissed him on the cheek.  "I'll see you later."  He blushed and nodded, turning away and rubbing his hands together.  Hermione chuckled softly to herself.  It wasn't that she was comfortable with their newfound relationship; far from it, in fact.  She was simply putting things into perspective.  She wouldn't allow herself to lose the love of a friend in the interest of romance.  She would take things with Ron slowly and carefully, one step at a time.  And who cared what anyone else thought?

            She gave the password to the pair of guardian gargoyles and steeped onto the staircase which began to ascend of its own accord as soon as her feet were firmly settled.  She could almost hear her heart beating it was pounding so laboriously in her chest.  She tried to take deep, calming breaths.  This whole thing was shaping up to be a massive snafu.

            "Ah, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, looking up from his papers as she entered the room.  His phoenix, Fawkes, was perched on the back of his chair.  "What brings you to our humble abode," the headmaster asked, smiling.

            Hermione took another deep breath.  This was a mistake, she was certain of it.  If her inquiry with Dumbledore yielded to her no clues she would simply call the whole thing off and find a way to persuade the others to do the same.  Now, though, she had no choice but to push forward.  It would seem rather odd if she simply turned around and left.  "I was doing some research in the library, Sir."

            Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.  "Not an unusual pursuit for you, Miss Granger."

            She smiled in spite of herself.  "no, sir, though this time it has produced a mysterious result."

            Dumbledore suddenly grew more somber and Hermione felt her nerves beginning to freeze up a bit.  "This result doesn't involve the unfortunate dredging up of yet another painful memory for our Professor Snape, does it," he asked her.

            "No," she replied the way she had rehearsed.  He seemed satisfied and sat back.  She mentally released the breath she had been holding.  No hesitation, no blushing, no awkward aversion of the eye.  She had passed the test.  She wasn't certain that this success was something that she should be proud of.  "I was simply looking through the history of the magical schools in Europe.  I was considering correspondence with someone from Beaux Batons, and I wanted to ensure that my background knowledge of the school was accurate before I accidentally made a foolish remark."

Dumbledore shook his head slightly, but said nothing, leaving Hermione to continue.  "As I was leafing through the pages, I came upon a picture of someone whom I presume to be a former student at that institution.  The picture had no caption, though, and I found that it was not attached to the book.  I took it out, and I have it with me now.  I was wondering if you would look at it and see if it's anyone you recognize."

            The headmaster smiled at her and adjusted his small reading glasses.  "The possibility is small, Miss Granger, but I will try."  He extended his hand, and she placed the photograph in his upturned palm.

            He leaned back in his chair before looking at the picture.  "If only the other students would pursue their leisure with the same degree of fervor that you pursue your leisure Miss Granger."  He sighed, held the photo before him, and gazed upon it.

            Hermione watched his face go from benign and kindly to socked and disbelieving to sad and almost angry in a succession of contortions that spanned less than a few seconds.  "Is something wrong, sir?"  she asked.  She knew the answer to that already but she couldn't think of anything else intelligent to say.

            He didn't answer, he just clutched the photograph before him, his knuckles turning white.  He looked as though he were trying not to cry, and Hermione began to back away, wanting to afford him a degree of solitude.  She felt sick inside.  If she would have known what kind of reaction that her plan would have provoked she would have never followed it through.  "Arial," Dumbledore whispered.

            "You know who that is?" Hermione asked, then mentally smacked herself for her tactlessness.  Obviously he knew who Arial was.  It seemed that the pain she had caused for others did not begin and end with Professor Snape.

            Dumbledore looked like a man shaken and bereaved.  His eyes were haunted by a ghost he seemed to have pushed aside which Hermione had just unwillingly resurrected.  She blinked, and all of that was gone.  His face was a great deal calmer, though it still had a milky pallor to it.  In his eyes rested a deep and weary sadness.  "Yes, Miss Granger.  Arial went to Beaux Batons during the same time period that Sirius and James attended Hogwarts," his smile was forced and awkward.  "She graduated with high honors from the school, but she fell through the cracks.  Everyone had great ambitions for her, but she couldn't aim herself in any one direction.  She became obsessed with the dark arts, but was timid to ally herself with the Death eaters, despite their growing power.  It was a difficult time for her."

            Hermione wanted to ask how he knew Arial so well, but she didn't dare interrupt.  "Things kept getting harder and harder for her, and she increasingly felt herself pulled in two directions.  She wanted simultaneously to be good and bad."

            He stopped his narration and stared at his hands for a moment.  "What happened to her," Hermione asked.

            He sighed mightily.  "Arial couldn't take the pressure.  It was too hard for her to live in a home that believed in and championed the fight against Lord Voldemort and his supporters.  One night, she ran away.  I have never seen her since, nor have I heard from her."  He let that sink in a moment.  "So in answer to your question, Miss Granger, yes, I know this woman."  He stared out the window directly across from him and spoke his last words almost to himself, "At least, I used to."

*           *           *

            "Why all of the long faces," Hermione asked her three friends upon returning to the common room that night.  They were all sitting together looking as though they had just attended a funeral.  Hermione had not seen any of them since she had left Ron at the foot of the stairwell earlier that day.  She wondered, for a brief moment, if he had told Ginny and Harry about the kiss the two of them had shared, but she dared not ask right now.  It looked as though business of a far more serious nature had been transacted.

            "Ginny got a howler," Harry said glumly.  "It was from her mum and dad and Tonks.  They told her that the four of us needed to stay out of everyone's business.  She said that she didn't care where the picture had come from, we should put it back where we found it as soon as possible."

            "I'm sorry, Ginny," said Hermione.

            Ginny shrugged.  "it's not a big deal.  Only now, we won't have any way of finding out who Arial was.  I'm sure mum and dad heard from Bill and Charlie that we had written them as well.  They probably told them not to give us any answers either.  My mum said she couldn't believe that we would go sneaking around behind someone's back bringing up a past that they obviously didn't want to relive.  She said having to live through whatever it was Snape lived through was probably bad enough for him to have to do once.  She said it wasn't our place to make him dredge up the past."

            Ron looked at Hermione hopefully.  "Did you get anything out of Dumbledore?"

            Ginny and Harry both seemed to brighten at the idea.  It was obvious that they had forgotten about her visit with the headmaster in the face of their own personal gloom.  "Yes," Hermione said, not sure whether to smile or to be further disturbed.  She had been planning on calling the whole thing off before her interview with the headmaster earlier in the day.  Things ad become far too muddled, and she was having difficulty justifying any of her action to herself anymore.  After she had seen Dumbledore's face when he had set eyes upon Arial, however, she knew that she had to find the woman.  It wasn't about Snape anymore.  Snape probably would just attack them for finding her anyway.  This she wanted to do for Dumbledore.  She knew he would appreciate it.

            "I showed Dumbledore the picture of Arial and he got sort of upset.  Actually, he got very upset, though he tried hard not to let me know that he was.  He started telling me all about her past.  He said that she had run away because she felt pulled in two different direction.  She didn't know whether to support Voldemort or to join the fight against him.  He said it was too hard for her to live with someone who was such a strong advocate for ridding the world of Voldemort's influence when her own feeling were so confused.  She ran away from home because she couldn't deal with the pressure anymore.  Apparently, Dumbledore didn't know she was pregnant with Snape's daughter at the time.  In fact, he didn't even mention Snape at all."

            The other three were on the edge of their seats.  "Who was Arial's father," asked Ron.

            She hadn't asked that.  Dumbledore had seemed so shaken just by looking at the picture that she had been grateful for information he had given her.  It would have been cruel for her to push the matter any further than she had.

            "Don't you get it," Ginny said, looking at them with an air that was a bit patronizing.  "You don't get it, Hermione?"

            "No."  She didn't 'get it', whatever 'it' was.

            "Well, go on, tell us then if you're so smart," said Ron snappishly.

            Ginny rolled her eyes and cleared her throat, looking around her as though to ensure the security of the secret of the universe.  "How do you think Dumbledore would know so much about Arial?"

            "Because he knew her father, you moron," said Ron.

            She continued as though he had not spoken.  "Why would he be so upset when he saw the picture, and when he talked about her?"

            "Because he was good friends with her father I don't know."  Ron looked annoyed.

            Harry, however looked intrigued, "What are you getting at, Ginny?"

            "What was Arial's least name, Hermione?"

            "Dora," Hermione suddenly though she knew where Ginny's train of thought was headed.

            "Do you really think that that is a coincidence," Ginny asked, hands on her hips, eyes staring straight at the three of them as though daring them to challenge her position.  "Dora, Dumbledore.  You can see where someone would get suspicious.  Remember too that Beaux Batons wouldn't release who Arial's father was for her safety.  Dumbledore sent her to Beaux Batons so that she could be treated fairly by the students and staff.  They changed her last name so that no one would know she was his daughter.  They wouldn't release the fact that he is her father because the would put her in jeopardy as a target of the Death eaters and Voldemort."

            Ron looked skeptical.  "Do you really think that Dumbledore could be her father?"

            Harry shrugged.  "I guess he could.  It seems odd that no one has ever mentioned him having any children before though."

            Hermione sat lost in thought as the others babbled on about the possibility of Arial being the daughter of Albus Dumbledore.  She wasn't sure what to think.  She remembered the pain on Dumbledore's face, the shock when he had first seen the picture.  She thought about how sad he had been when he had spoken of the fact that it had been years since he had last seen Arial.  She knew that, whether he was the woman's father or not, she had to find her for Dumbledore's sake.  As far as she was concerned, Snape was no longer a part of the picture.

            She excused herself and headed up to bed where she contemplated picking up the spirit book.  She couldn't think of anything to write that would lead her to any new information, though, so she replaced it on her bedside shelf.  Sirius and James had known nothing about Arial before.  It seemed unlikely that their position would have changed since her last letter.

            Lavender smiled at her from across the room as Hermione looked around before switching off her bedside light.  She was painting her toenails a lurid shade of blue, to match her eyes, she explained.  Lavender changed the color of her eyes so often that Hermione couldn't even remember what they had looked like when the two of them had arrived for their first year at Hogwarts.  It seemed as though it had been a lifetime ago.

            She thought about everything that had happened so far this year.  First, she had visited with the Tree and found out that Snape was Harry's uncle.  Then she had found out that Snape also had an estranged daughter with a mysterious woman by the name of Arial.  Now it looked as though it were possible that Arial was Dumbledore's daughter.  She tried to picture the twisted family tree as it was now developing, but found it impossible to do so.  Her head was throbbing and spinning.  She had to get some sleep.  She would deal with the rest in the morning.

*           *           *

            "A word, please, Miss Granger," Snape called out from over the stack of essays he was grading as the rest of the students filed out of the dungeon following their potions lesson.  Hermione shrugged at Ron and Harry, and told them that she would meet them shortly.  She turned back down the steps and stopped across the desk from Snape.  All that she could see was the top of his greasy head.

            At last he looked up after she cleared her throat.  "Sit down," he ordered.

            She carefully slid into the chair, keeping her posture ramrod straight, her eyes looking forward.  She wasn't sure what this was about, so she warned herself to exhibit exceeding care before stepping forward.

            "I have received a bit of disturbing news from one of the students in my house," he said, his voice quiet and dangerous.  "Draco Malfoy said that he happened to be walking by when he saw you receive an envelope from Beaux Batons school of magic.  He heard you tell Ginny Weasley that you wouldn't open the envelope until you returned to Gryffindor tower because you didn't want the contents to be confiscated.  The next evening, he reported that Ginny Weasley received a howler from her mother telling her, in no uncertain terms, to mind her own business.  Though you have already explained the first event to Professor McGonagall, who saw fit to deduct points from Slytherin for Draco's behavior, I would be delighted if you would share with me your version of the tale."

            "I have a pen pal at Beaux Batons," Hermione said shortly.  "Ginny and I both have been writing, and we had asked her to respond with some advice concerning a personal problem that the two of us have both had.  I didn't want to read the answer out loud in the Great Hall, or have it taken from us and read by someone else because the contents defiantly had the capacity to become exceedingly embarrassing."

            Snape looked at her as though she had "I'm a liar" tattooed on her forehead.  He didn't press the issue, however.  "And what do you make of Miss Weasley's howler?"

            "Ginny's family is very close," Hermione shrugged.  "She didn't seem too upset about the incident, so I have to conclude that there wasn't much to it.  Ginny probably asked her parents a question that they felt was too personal, and they told her to back off."

            "Indeed," said Snape, who still looked as though he could read the imaginary sign on her forehead.  Hermione wondered why she had ever thought that it would be a good idea to try and find this man's daughter.  Obviously, such a gift would be wasted on him, assuming he were to accept her in the first place.  She had given up on Snape completely.  Her whole quest was now focused on Dumbledore.  She thought that she would have even backed out of the whole thing were it not for her chat with the headmaster yesterday afternoon.  After all that he had done for their world, she felt that she owed him something.  She also knew that he would appreciate the effort once it had been completed.

            "Is that all, Professor," she asked sweetly.

            "For now," he said, still looking a bit dodgy.  "Stay out of my business, Miss Granger.  That warning goes for your little friends as well."

            She nodded at him and shifted her eyebrows in order to feign that she had no concept concerning what he was talking about.  She pushed her chair away from the desk and took her leave, grateful to have escaped without enduring any more of Snape's abuse.

*           *           *

            "So," Harry said meeting her at the top of the staircase that led away from the dungeons, and Snape, "what did you do now?"

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Remember when Draco saw me receive the letter from Beaux Batons?  He went and told Snape about it, and Snape wanted some information.  He also wanted to know why Ginny would receive a howler that told her to mind her own business.  I told him that the letter was innocent and that I didn't know what Ginny's howler was about."

            Harry sighed.  "I still don't know if trying to find Arial or her daughter is the best idea."

            "I was having second thoughts about the whole thing too," Hermione admitted.  "I have been ever since I told the three of you.  I wasn't sure if I should even tell you.  Actually, I was ready to call the whole thing off until I sat down with Professor Dumbledore.  Now I want to find Arial for him.  I don't even care about Snape anymore.  He'd probably just hate us more for trying to help him."

            Harry nodded in agreement.  "Snape certainly seems to like being alone.  He never does anything to try to change the situation."

            "Speaking of being alone," said Hermione, "What happened to Ron?"

            "He said that he had to meet McGonagall for some sort of review."

            "Oh," Hermione said, "I forgot all about that.  I should have told him good luck."  Harry looked confused.  "Every term all of the prefects have to be individually reviewed twice by their heads of house.  At the end of the year we all get reviewed together.  You get tested on your knowledge of rules and polices and you have to go over all of the citations you've given.  They just want to make sure you're still up to the job, I guess.  I have mine tomorrow."

            "Sounds like fun," Harry said sardonically.  "I guess Ron must have passed _your_ examination though."

            Hermione felt her face burning red, "What are you talking about?"

            Harry grinned wickedly.  "Ickle Ronnikins said that he kissed you out in the hallway two nights ago."

            "_So_," Hermione said with a bit more of an edge than she had intended.

            Harry held his hands up in mock surrender.  "So nothing, I'm just saying."

            Hermione shook her head and turned her nose up slightly as they walked towards Gryffindor tower.  She didn't know what to say to Harry.  She wanted to leave the subject of her and Ron for another time when the two of them could face their friend together but she wasn't entirely certain of how to let it go.  It seemed that Harry, however, had no intention of changing his tune.  "Ron was worried that he's not a good kisser," he said.

            "I don't know if he's a good kisser or not.  He only kissed me once, and it was just a friendly peck on the lips.  There was nothing overly passionate about it.  It was very sweet," she added quietly.

            "Hmph," Harry snorted, obviously searching for something a bit more racy.  

            Hermione continued walking.  There really was nothing more to say.

            "Do you want to have a relationship with him," Harry asked at last.  

            "Yes," she said exasperatedly.  "I suppose that I do.  I mean, it wasn't something that I'd spent a lot of time thinking about before but I'm open to the idea so long as we don't ever let it destroy our friendship or any of the mutual friendships we have.  If I didn't want it, I'd have told him so."

            "Just checking," said Harry.

            Hermione walked through the portrait hole ahead of him.  She smiled at Ginny, who grinned back at her like the Cheshire cat.  Hermione looked around the room, and it seemed as though everyone in there had the same look upon their face.  "What's the matter with you," Hermione asked, feeling that she already knew.

            "Ron told me at lunch that he kissed you," Ginny squealed excitedly.  "It's about time!"

            "Not so loud," Hermione begged in Ron's interest.  She didn't know if he was ready to let the whole world know.

            Ginny shrugged.  "It doesn't really matter.  He said it loud enough for Parvati to hear, so now everyone knows."

            "Great," said Hermione sarcastically.  "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

            "We'll see," Ginny answered brightly.  "He was the one that told, though.  Anyway, what did you find out today?"

            "Nothing new.  Draco told Snape about your howler, but all Snape knows is that your mum said to mind your own business.  I told him I didn't know what that was all about.  Also, in case he asks, I have a pen pal from Beaux Batons and the two of us have been jointly writing for some advice on a problem."

            "Got it," Ginny said.

            "Anything new for you to report," asked Hermione.  She chided herself for sounding like a general.

            "Yes," Ginny said smiling, "but I think we should wait until Ron gets here.  In the meantime, why don't you tell everyone the story of your first kiss?"

            "Why don't you tell everyone about the time you tried to curse away your freckles and you ended up with big hair warts all over your face?  I have pictures if you need a visual aid"

            "Or," Ginny reconsidered quickly, "we could just sit here and study while we wait for Ron."

            Hermione nodded amicably and the three friends sat in comfortable silence finishing their homework for the night.  Hermione kept glancing at the clock over the mantelpiece.  If Ron didn't get back soon, he would be up all night finishing his assignments.

            At last the door to the common room opened and he stepped through looking a bit tired but still proud of himself.  "I passed the inspection," he said plopping down on  the couch heavily.

            "Good for you!" Hermione congratulated him.

            "That's nice," said Ginny.  "I got a letter today."

            "From who?" Ron asked, completely forgetting about his success.

            "Fred and George."

            "And," said Harry.

            "And they've seen Arial.  At least, they've seen someone who looks like Arial, only older.  She's been in their store before.  Just after it opened, they said.  She dropped in and picked up some of their phony sweets.  They said they haven't seen her for about three months since then."

            "So they know anything else about her?" Hermione asked.

            "Well, not really.  I mean, we don't even know if it's really her or if it's just someone who bears some resemblance to her."

            "Did they get her name?  Maybe even an address."

            Ginny sighed.  "They actually had enough foresight to put some of that into their letter.  They thought they would look it up in their records, but they don't have anything about anyone named Arial, or anyone with a last name of Dora.  They keep a record on all of their customers so they can put them on a mailing list.  Nothing seemed to match.  That either means that it isn't her or that she's  living under a different name now."

            Hermione was so frustrated with this entire ordeal she thought she might scream.  Every time it seemed as though they might be getting somewhere they just came to another impasse.  This time, it was Harry who offered a possible solution.  "They said that they haven't seen her for about three months, right?"

            "Yes"

            "They haven't been open all that long.  Have them send us a copy of their records for the first four months of their business.  That should cover everything from their opening day up until three months ago."

            "Harry's right," Hermione said excitedly.  "Let's do that."

            Ginny wrote out her request on a piece of paper ad ran off to the owlery to send it on a rush.

            "I think I'm going to head off to bed," Hermione said standing up and stretching.  It was early still, but the past few days had been somewhat difficult for her and she felt that she needed some rest.  She had to be in a sharp frame of mind to pass McGonagall's inspection tomorrow.  "Goodnight," she smiled.

            Ron stood up with her.  "Goodnight, Hermione."  He hugged her awkwardly, and then shyly kissed her again, only this time with far more certainty than he had the last time.  He blushed only slightly.  Hermione supposed that he had suddenly realized they were in the middle of the common room.

            "I should write you up for that," she teased.  "Public Displays of Affection aren't allowed.  Just ask poor Dean Thomas."  As soon as the words had left her mouth, Hermione would have given her right arm to take them back.  She had forgotten all about Harry.  She knew there was no way he would just let that statement go.  He would have to know just who it was that Dean had been kissing.  Ron's look of horror mirrored her own, she was certain.

Harry was nonchalant.  "Was he kissing Cho out in the corridors again?  I'm glad somebody wrote them up.  The whole thing is rather disgusting really."

"So you know," Ron asked incredulously.  It was obvious to Hermione that he, like herself had believed that Harry would be devastated upon hearing the new.

"Who doesn't," he shrugged.  "It'll be like you and Hermione in a day or two.  Everybody will know the two of you are together."

            "You aren't devastated?"  He said disbelievingly.

            "No.  I told you she was sort of crazy.  Nice, but sad and crazy."

            Ron sighed.  "Well, that's a load off.  I thought you'd blown it for a moment there, Hermione."

            "Me too," she admitted.  She had ruined everything else this year, it seemed.  It was nice to know that someone had already taken care of that particular item for her.


	9. Chapter 9

"How did your inspection go," Ron asked Hermione the next evening as she came through the door to the common room long after dinner had passed.  "Not that I really need to ask," he added.

            "Terrible," she answered truthfully, sighing and sitting down on the spot he had cleared next to him on the couch.

            "Oh," he said.  Clearly, that hadn't been the answer he was looking for.

            "I got into trouble with McGonagall," she explained, sighing.  "She says I've been doing an awful lot of prying this year, and says that I need to stop using my privileges for ill if I want to keep them."

            "She didn't say any of that to me."

            "I know."  Hermione didn't finish her thought.  Everyone expected better of her was all.  "I passed though," she brightened.  "I knew all of the rules and procedures, so that part was okay."

            "That's good," Ron said.

            "Yeah.  She just said that I needed to get my priorities straight if I still wanted to be the top candidate for Head Girl next year."  Hermione smiled wryly, and said no more.  She wasn't sure what to think.  There was nothing she wanted more than to be the Head Girl next year.  She had aspired to that position since that day she had first set foot in the castle.  Still, she just couldn't seem to tear herself away from the prospect of finding Arial.  It had become a consuming task, to say the least.

            "What are you going to do," Ron asked, leaning closer to her.  She could tell he desperately wanted to put his arm around her but was too inhibited to do so.  She didn't push the issue.  

            "I don't know.  I guess I should let the whole thing go, but I feel like we've come so far."  She let her voice trail off into a lengthy sigh.  In truth, she was completely torn, trapped by her own character.  She wanted to call it quits, to say McGonagall and Snape and all of the other members of the Order were right and what her and her friends were doing amounted to little more than interfering where they were most certainly not welcome.  At the same time, she felt that they had come so far now that it would do more harm to turn back and not finish what they had started.  

            Ron scooted even closer to her so that now there was hardly any room left between them.  "Ginny got the list of addresses from Fred and George today," he said quietly.

            "Speaking of Ginny, where is she?"

            Ron waved his hand dismissively, "Practice went really late, then she and Harry stayed in the Great Hall with the rest of the team after dinner.  I told them I needed to leave to do homework."

            "You don't look like you're doing homework."

            Ron blushed as he looked at the copy of _Flying with the Cannons _that he had borrowed from Harry that was now laying open in his lap, but ignored her.  "There were quite a few people on that list.  I didn't know their business was doing so well.  I still wonder who their financial backer could have been."

            "I don't know," said Hermione impatiently.  She didn't really care about that right now.  "Did you start narrowing things down?"

            Ron shrugged.  "Actually, we didn't have to.  I know that Fred and George never put too much effort into studying for their OWLs, but I guess they can really get it together when it comes to something they _want_ to do, like Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes or getting into Snape's business."  He pulled the list out from within the pages of Harry's book.  "They highlighted anyone who they haven't seen lately and anyone that they didn't know for sure."

            Hermione snatched the list from him and looked it over imperiously.  "Well, that certainly narrows it down."  She couldn't help but being impressed.  If only the twins had put such thought and effort into their schoolwork; they had narrowed the list down to six possible choices.

            She pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag and began writing on it.  "What are you doing?" Ron asked.

            "I'm writing all of these names down so that I can look them up in the genealogy book.  I can see if any of these show up in there, and if they do, I can eliminate them."

            "Oh," said Ron.  

            She sighed after finishing and leaned back into the soft comfort of the cushions, closing her eyes and letting herself relax for a moment.  There was a commotion near the doorway and she looked up sharply.

            " 'lo Hermione, Ron," Harry said pulling his broom through the doorway, Ginny following right on his heels.  The rest of the Gryffindor team piled through the portrait hole, waving their goodnights and heading ff to their respective dormitories.

            "Did you have a good practice?"  Hermione asked.  Ron looked slightly annoyed that she hadn't bothered to inquiry him on the status of their team, but she ignored him.

            "Yeah," Harry said, sitting heavily on the other side of Ron.

            "That's good."

            "Did Ron give you the list from Fred and George?" Ginny asked, plopping down next to Harry and looking completely exhausted.

            "Yeah.  I wrote all of the names down so that I can look them up in the genealogy book the next time I go to the library."

            "Before breakfast tomorrow then," Harry teased.  Hermione gave him a scathing look, but had to admit that he had a point.

            "Do you think that Arial could really be on that list?"  Ron asked leaning over Hermione's shoulder and looking only at the parchment upon which she had listed the six possible candidates.

            "Well we won't know unless we look, will we Ron?" Ginny asked a note of reproval in her voice.

            "I suppose not." Ron blushed and leaned back again, staring down at the book in his lap.  Harry followed his gaze and smiled.

            "Thought you had to study, Ron."

            "I finished."

            "Uh huh.  You had to study something"

            "What's that supposed to mean?

            Harry smiled slyly and pointed at Hermione, who had her head buried in paperwork and was looking over the list of names yet again.  Ron punched him on the arm.  "Shut up, Harry," he glowered.

            Harry shrugged, still grinning.  "Well, I'm off to bed then."

            Ginny stood up as well, "me too."

            "Goodnight," Hermione waved distractedly, still staring at the list before her. 

            " 'Mione, aren't you going to go to bed?"  Ron looked concerned.  "You aren't having trouble sleeping again, are you?"

            "No," she smiled.  "Well, just a little, but not like I was at the beginning of the year.  I just wanted to see if there was any sort of connection that I could find between these names and addresses and the story that the Tree told me."

            "Oh.  Do you ever think that maybe you try to hard?"

            She waved the question off like she did every time Ron asked it.  "I'll go upstairs in a minute."

            Ron said nothing, he just continued sitting by her, string off into space.  A few minutes later she repacked her bag, stowing the parchment in a front compartment where she could get to it easily.  She buckled the clasp and smiled at Ron, "there, all finished."

            "About time," Ron grumbled.  He turned towards her and smiled.  "Well, goodnight them."  He looked as though he wanted to say more, but no words came from his mouth.  There was an embarrassed blush over his cheeks.  

            Hermione leaned forward, putting her arms around him and pressing her lips against his and kissing him softly.  He returned her embrace, and kissed her back.  "Goodnight," Hermione said softly, kissing him on the cheek as she rose to gather her bag and climb up the stairs to her room.

            Ron sat on the couch long after she had gone, still staring blankly into the book he held in his lap.

*           *           *

            Hermione hurried to the library early the next morning, skidding to a halt in front of the double doors just as Madame Pince unbolted the lock.  Despite the fact that Hermione frequented the room, the librarian was no friendlier to her than she was to any of the other students.  She seemed to think the only purpose of children was to cause trouble.  She pursed her lips and looked at the bushy haired girl reprovingly before swishing off to sit behind her desk.

            Hermione headed for the bookcase where she knew the book resided and pulled it from the shelves, running her fingers over the embossed title on the front cover.  Quickly, she headed for a table in the back corner of the room and pulled the little slip of parchment from the front of he bag.  She had alphabetized the names as she had written them down the night before.  She wanted to make her search as proficient as possible.  

            Pulling out a blank sheet and a quill, she opened to the first name on the list: Briana Aberforth.  Her profile made her a possibility.  She marked that name with a checkmark and wrote down the last known address for the witch.  Next, she turned to Gertrude Aiken.  She skimmed the column, finding that the witch pictured here was about ten years older than she presumed Arial to be and, at the time, was happily married with two young sons in Berkshire.  She crossed that name off, and hurried to the next.

            Abigail Gershwin, sister of ministry member Avery showed no promise, nor did Mackenzie Ludwig.  With two left, she skipped several pages and headed to the back of the book.  Lara Paddington was added to Briana Aberforth on her short list, while Eloise Smith was a definite no.

            Hurriedly, she stowed her things away, placed the book back on the reshelving cart and headed down to join her friends at breakfast.   "What are you doing out here, Granger," she heard a drawling voice from behind her just as she left the library corridor.

            "I could ask the same of you, Malfoy," she said, eyes narrowing.

            "Breakfast wasn't to my liking," he said drolly.  "I though I could better spend my time scaring little first years who were trying to get to the library and finish today's assignments.  Is that what you were doing, Granger?"

            "No.  I was returning a book."

            "This early?"

            "I have a lot to do today," she continued as calmly as possible.  "I wanted to get a head start."

            Malfoy nodded and grinned at her in a sinister way that told her he didn't believe a thing she was saying.  Hermione rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, anxious to reach the Great Hall and tell the others what she had found before breakfast was over.  She could talk to Ron and Harry anyway, but it would be much later that night before she had a chance to see Ginny again.

            She made it a few steps before Malfoy called out to her again.  "I'm watching you, Granger," he said.  "This time, I was too slow, but I'll catch you one day."

            "Catch me doing what?" she said, hands on her hips, eyes diamond hard.

            "You know what," he smirked.  "Very ambitious of you to be doing all of that extra _research_."  He raised his eyebrows as he said the last word and then turned around, heading the opposite way.

            Hermione let out a long breath that rattled deep in her chest.  So, Snape was still worried about her finding out more about Arial, and he had Malfoy spying for him, though she was certain Malfoy did not know exactly what he was looking for.

            She sighed again.  She was going to have to be more careful.

*           *           *

            "What did you find?" Ron asked her excitedly as she slipped into the seat next to him for a last minute breakfast. 

            "Shh," she whispered.  "Malfoy's after me.  Snape must have told him to tell on me if he saw me doing research.  He was heading for the library just as I left, so he didn't actually _see_ me.  I told him I was returning a book."

            Ron and Harry both looked angry, but Hermione insisted that they ignore it.  Ginny agreed saying, "If we make a big deal out of it, Snape will know that he's right and that Hermione has something to hide.  If we just act like we don't know what Malfoy's on about then he might not think so much of it."

            Ron snorted.  Obviously he thought the prospect of Snape giving up his vengeance against Hermione was the least likely thing he had ever heard.

            "Two."  Hermione said simply, and then started eating her breakfast.

            Ginny and Harry nodded.  The latter whispered an explanation to Ron who was so busy being angry with Malfoy that he couldn't figure out Hermione's cryptic words,  

            As they left the hall, Hermione handed Ginny an envelope in which she had put the two possible candidates along with the addresses Fred and George had sent her and the old locations she had written down from the book.  She smiled brightly.  "I've got an order for Fred and George," she said.  "Would you send it for me, Ginny?  I know that get lots of business and if you use Pig they might look at mine ahead of some of the others.  I have to get something for Ron, and I need it ASAP."

            Ginny smiled slyly back, and Hermione knew that the younger girl understood that the envelope contained the names of the two possible candidates and a pleading request for farter help from the twins as the rules o the castle were somewhat confining.  "No problem, Hermione," the red head said, stowing the envelope in her book bag.  "I'll get this sent off just before lunch."

            Hermione turned the other way and headed for Charms with Ron and Harry in tow.  She wished that today were any day but Thursday so that she would have a free period before classes started to talk to her two friends.  She was careful to field their questions in a manner that wouldn't arise suspicion in the class, though the precaution was somewhat moot.  Charms was almost always a frenzy of activity, and today was no exception.  As usual, it was a great time to talk.

            "I sent the names of the two people that wanted orders to Fred and George," she told Ron and Harry as she practiced changing the color of her hair.  "I told them that they might want to make a home delivery."

            Ron nodded and promptly lit his hair on fire.  Hermione hurriedly sent water jetting from the end of her wand and put it out.  "Stupid wand," he muttered.

            "If you would be more careful with it, it wouldn't have gotten broken." Hermione said primly.  

            Ron glowered at her.  "Well, the first time wasn't my fault.  You don't think I could have politely asked the whomping willow not to destroy it and everything would have been okay, do you?

            "You shouldn't have been flying that car to school in the first place," she said with an air of reproval.  Ron scowled.

            "That was Dobby's fault."

            "You should have contacted the Ministry."

            Harry gave Ron a look that said to let it go, and the tall boy wisely moved on.  "What about this summer, eh?  You think that I could have kept my wand from being broken then do you?"

            "You shouldn't have been using it to swordfight Fred," she said primly, changing her hair color from violet to lime green to magenta.  "That weakened it so that when you fell on it it broke."

            "I fell down the bloody stairs!"  He roared.  "Don't you think that it might have broken all on its own?"

            Hermione struggled not to laugh.  "Then you shouldn't have been so clumsy, come on Ron, just drop it.  People are staring."

            Ron turned bright red.  "I would be sympathetic if you broke your wand."

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Oh Ron, I was only kidding.  I know you never broke your wand on purpose.  I jus said that you should have been more careful with it was all."  Her hair was bright red with gold streaks through it now.  Harry had only managed to change the tips of his, and Ron's was still smoking every time he pointed his wand at it, the ends looking strangely singed.  All around the class, there were various shades of color, most done haphazardly.  Neville was bald and Parvati was screaming because a glob of worms had replaced her shiny mahogany hair.  Only Lavender and Hermione had managed to properly perform the spell.

            "I see we'll be working on this again tomorrow afternoon," Professor Flitwick squeaked, his own long beard and hair the Ravenclaw shade of blue.  He assigned everyone except lavender and Hermione extra homework.  

            Ron groaned as soon as they got outside.  "Why would I need to know this bloody spell anyway?  This spell is for girls.  I'm not going to change my hair color."

            "Even when it's gray?" asked Harry.  

            "No.  I'd rather have gray hair than light my head on fire again," Ron said firmly.

            Harry had a malicious grin on his face.  "You better see what Hermione thinks about that first, mate.  She may not like men with gray hair you know.  Wouldn't want your marriage to end over a tiff about hair color."

            Ron's eyes got as big as saucers, and he ran screaming after Harry who had taken off down the hallway.  Hermione stood back and laughed, glad to have her friends back to normal again.

            Suddenly, a voice cut through her thoughts.  "Going to reprimand them, for that, Granger?"

            "What are you, stalking me," Hermione asked turning on Malfoy with narrowed eyes.

            "No, I was just checking up on you.  I see that you aren't doing your job.  People are running in the hallways and disturbing classes while you're standing around watching."

            "It's passing time," she said flippantly, waving him off.

            Draco raised his eyebrows.  "So, is what Potter said true?  Weasel King asked you to join his pig sty?"

            "No, Malfoy," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks starting to burn an angrily willing them not to.  "It was called a joke."

            "I see," he said, stroking his chin with his index finger.  "And I thought we would be prematurely rid of both of you.  Too bad."

            "Leave me alone, Malfoy," she said stalking off down the hall with long strides.  "Go find someone else to pick on."  
            Malfoy looked as though he wanted to say more, but then Professor Flitwick popped his little head through the doorway.  "Mr. Malfoy, come in her and sit down at once.  You and your friends are blocking up the entire doorway.  No one can get inside."  Malfoy sneered at Hermione one last time, then motioned fro Crabbe and Goyle to follow him inside.  He wasn't stupid enough to continue what he had started in front of a teacher.

            Hermione caught up with Ron and Harry later that day in Potions.  They had headed for Divination after Charms while she had gone to Arithmancy.  She told them in a whisper about what had transpired between her and Malfoy just after the two boys had taken off down the hall following Charms class.

            Ron looked really angry, but Hermione told him to let it go.  "You know you can't fight Malfoy in here Ron," she hissed.  "Think of where we are," she said gesturing to the dungeon around her.  "You don't think you'd get much sympathy from this crowd, do you?"

            Ron looked as though he wanted to protest, but agreed to sit silently through the lesson.  

            Hermione finished her potion, a relatively easy stain removing draught, and sat back to wait for Ron and Harry to put the stoppers in their respective vials.  Suddenly, she felt something running down the back of her robes.  Quickly, she stood u[p, trying to get it off of her.  The liquid was burning her skin.  She could hear Snape sounding furious at the front of the room.  "Miss Granger, please save us that ridiculous interpretive dance and sit down in your seat.  Your antics are becoming more and more distracting as the year goes on."

            "Please Professor," she said, trying not to cry out in pain.  "Something has spilled down the back of my robes.  It burns.."  she spun around again, trying to keep the sodden robe from clinging to her.  Ron reached up and undid the clasp on it, pulling it away from her skin and leaving her standing in the muggle skirt, oxford shirt, tie, knee socks and mary janes that she wore underneath

            "Mr. Weasley, now is really not the time," Snape said evenly.  "Fifty points from Gryffindor."

            Ron looked as though he were going to leap to the front of the room and strangle Snape, but Hermione's suffering held him in check.  "Can't you do something," he growled to Snape, who was now looking over a stack of ungraded essays.

            "Please, Sir," Draco Malfoy interrupted.  "Granger tripped me with her book bag and I spilled my potion.  Can I make a new one?"

            "Yes, Draco," Snape said distractedly.  "SIT DOWN Miss Granger.  I will not ask you again."            

            Hermione whimpered and hurriedly picked up her bag and the sodden robe heading for the exit with Ron in tow.

            "I told you to sit, Miss Granger," said Snape.  "I did not tell you to leave.  Mr. Weasley, where do you think you're going?"

            "Shut up you great bat," Ron said, ushering Hermione out the door and into the hallway.

            "Ron," said Hermione, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, "you should NOT have said that."

            On cue, the door to the classroom slammed open.  "One hundred points from Gryffindor and a month of detention for you Weasley.  If it's up to me, you won't be a prefect anymore either when I'm done with you.  You and Potter, as I have tried to inform those who have the power to do something about it many times, have been crossing lines ever since you came to school and I have had enough.  The line will be drawn here!  No further!  If I were your head of house, you would be expelled from this school.  I will not stand to be humiliated in front of my students!  DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

            Ron turned away and stomped off, gingerly helping Hermione down the hall.  "Are you all right?" he asked, a look of pure concern on his face.

            "No," she said truthfully.  "That really burns.  I need to go to the hospital wing."

            "I can't believe he did that." Ron continued.  "That was really low."

            "Forget it," Hermione said, her skin in too much burning agony to care.  

            "How can I forget that?" Ron said angrily.  "That's the most horrible thing he's ever done, Hermione.  I'm going to go tell Dumbledore straight away."  They reached the door to the infirmary and he led her inside.  He told Madame Pompfery what had happened to Hermione and then started pacing the room as the nurse set to work patching her up.

            Harry burst into the room a few seconds later.  "How's Hermione," he said.  Ron pointed to her, and Harry narrowed his eyes and started talking to Ron in a hushed voice.  Ron looked even angrier and then stormed from the room.

            A few minutes later, Hermione came over to greet Harry.  "How does it feel?" Harry asked worriedly.

            "It's fine," she waved him away.  "What was that all about?"

            "Nothing," he stammered nervously as they headed for dinner.

            "Yeah right.  Tell me now, Harry."

            Harry sighed.  "Snape was really mad.  That was the angriest I've ever seen him.  He sat back down and started snapping at everyone, and the whole class got really quiet.  The only person he wasn't yelling at was Malfoy.  He was right behind us, you know, and I could hear him talking to Goyle and Crabbe."

            Hermione waited a moment, then prompted, "And…"

            Harry blushed slightly.  "Well, Malfoy told them that he spilled the potion on purpose.  He said that he didn't trip over you bag, he just made that up.  He said it was fitting."

            "What was fitting?" Hermione asked.

            "Uh," at this Harry's face turned as red as Ron's hair.  "To spill a cleaning potion on a mudblood.  I'm really sorry, Hermione," he added rapidly.

            "You didn't day it , Harry," she said quietly.  "Did Snape hear him?"

            "I think so," said Harry, "but he didn't say anything."  He looked really angry.  "Ron was right about Snape, though I think I would have used something nastier to describe him."

            "Good thing you didn't," Hermione said sharply.  "We would have lost even more points if you had."

            "I know.  I'm glad Ron said something, though.  No one in potions with us cared that he lost us all of those points.  We could hear Snape yelling at you through the door, and everyone got really mad.  Except the Slytherins, of course.  They were all laughing.  Bunch of bloody idiots."

            Hermione sat down in her usual seat.  Throughout the whole meal, she yielded questions of concern from her fellow Gryffindors.  Harry was right.  The news of Ron's indiscretion against Snape had spread through the house like wildfire, and no one seemed at all miffed at Ron for having lost them all of those points.  Instead, everyone seemed to want revenge on Snape for his display of inhumanity.

            At last, Ron entered the hall to a raucous cheer from the Gryffindor table and several pats on the back as he made his way to the open seat Hermione had saved next to her and across from Harry.

            "Did you do it?" Harry asked mysteriously.

            "Yeah.  Angry, he was.  Said he was going to talk with him about it right away.  Said that never should have happened."

            "What are you talking about," asked Ginny.  "Ron, is it true that you called Snape a great bat to his face?"

            "Yes.  I went and talked to Dumbledore about what Snape and Malfoy did in potions today.  He was really mad.  He said he would be heading for the dungeons straight away.  He wants you to stop by and see McGonagall after dinner, Hermione."

            "I wish you wouldn't have done that, Ron," Hermione said quietly.

            Ron looked hurt.  "Why not?  I can't have him treating you like that Hermione.  I'm supposed to look out for you.  I couldn't let him be that way and getaway with it.  Not to my girlfriend."  He blushed furiously after he said the last, and looked as though he would have rather phrased it any other way.

            Hermione decided the best thing to do would be to move on in haste.  "I know you're angry Ron," she said, "and I really appreciate you standing up to him.  It's just that now he's going o be even more unbearable than ever."

            Ron looked ashamed.  "Sorry," he said.

            Hermione felt badly.  "Don't be," she smiled, patting him on the arm.  "I know you were just trying to help."  She kissed him softly on the cheek as she rose from the table.  "I had better go and see McGonagall."

            Ron nodded and turned back to his dinner.  Ginny got up and walked with Hermione, leaving the two boys behind.  "Did he _really_ say that, Hermione," she asked at last once they were out of earshot from the Great Hall.

            "Yeah.  I was mortified.  I thought Snape would kill him."

            Ginny shook her head.  "He must really care about you to have done that.  You know McGonagall will have to tell mum, and he'll be getting a howler.  He also can't stand losing house points.  He says it makes him feel like a failure."

            Hermione smiled.  "I know he cares about me.  You should have seen his face.  It was even worse than if Snape had said it to him."  She blushed slightly.  "don't tell him I said this, because it will embarrass him, but he was wonderful."

            Ginny smiled and nodded.  "I mailed the letter today," she said.

            "Good," Hermione acknowledged her.  She stopped outside the door to McGonagall's office.  The deputy headmistress opened it and came swooping down upon her and Ginny before Hermione had even had a chance to knock. 

            "Are you quite al right, Miss Granger?'

            "I'm fine, Professor," she smiled weakly.  "Nothing Madame Pompfery couldn't fix."

            "Well, I assure you, Miss Granger that both professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy will be dealt with.  Firmly.  Tell Mr. Weasley I have awarded him twenty-five points for assisting you in your time of need, and that he will be able to remain a prefect."

            "Thank you," Hermione said for Ron.

            McGonagall continued in a serious tone, "please inform Mr. Weasley that our Potions Master is not, nor has he ever been, a 'great bat'".  Hermione could have sworn the coroners of the woman's mouth were twitching as she said the last.

            "I will.  Goodnight Professor."

            "Goodnight, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley."

            The two girls hurried off to Gryffindor tower, giggling excitedly over the prospect of telling Ron that Snape was not, in fact, a great bat.

            In Hermione's opinion, he was a whole lot worse.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sort of short chapter, sorry!  Wanted to update ASAP, because my other story Sound of Silence has been taking up all of my energy, as it is very depressing and emotionally draining to write.  This chap is sort of lighthearted, bit I needed that after working on the other fic.  This is a bit of a setup for things to come.  Don't worry, not going to give this up or let suffer in favor of the other story J

Thanks to all who review!  I love you guys (and gals.  No sexism here)!

A/N II:  Though it may surprise you, I do not own, nor have I ever owned Harry Potter.  In case you were wondering, I never will own Harry Potter either.

*           *            *

            The Great Hall was buzzing the next morning when Hermione entered for breakfast.  News of Ron's calling Snape a great bat seemed to have spread through the school like wildfire.  So, it seemed, had news of their dating.  She fielded questions as she downed her morning meal, pleading silently to Ginny to help make it stop.  Her friend did an admirable job of turning the conversation away from Hermione and Ron and back to Ron and Snape.

            "What do you think they'll do to him?"  Neville looked excited at the prospect of Snape being made to tone down a bit.  The boy had always been a favorite target for the Potions Master.

            Hermione shrugged.  "Warn him to be human, I suspect." 

            "I don't know, 'Mione," Harry chimed in.  "For Snape that would be cruel and unusual punishment, and you know how Dumbledore is."

            "Maybe he'll be fired," Dean Thomas suggested.  "I'd love to see that!  No more ten foot essays on Arrow Root!  No more erasing the directions before anyone's even had a chance to write them down!  No more Vertiserum tests!"

            Several of the Gryffindors nodded excitedly, but Hermione pursed her lips a bit and frowned.  "What's the matter, Hermione," Ron teased,  "going to miss the ten foot essays?"

            "No," she lied, scowling.  "You don't think they really would fire Snape, do you?"

            "Who cares," said Harry.  Hermione's frown deepened, but she said no more.

            "What about Draco, Hermione?  He was the one that dumped the potion on you."  Neville looked concernedly across the table at her and smiled shyly.

            "Now there's a git that needs to be taken out of school," Dean Thomas ranted.  Apparently, he was intent on expelling everyone today.  "He's horrible.  I knew he'd done it on purpose before Harry heard him say so."

            "I'm sure he won't be expelled," Hermione said dryly, wishing this conversation would just end.

            "No," Ron agreed with her sourly, "of course he won't.  Lucious Malfoy will do everything he can to keep him at Hogwarts, won't he?  If Dumbledore tried to expel him, I suspect he would just buy his way back in."

            Harry nodded grimly.  "They are both still in here."

            Hermione tuned out the rest of the conversation so that she could finish her meal in peace.  After clearing her plate, she leaned over to pick her bag up, straightened her robes, and walked away from the table waving a goodbye to everyone there.

            "Oy, Hermione, wait," Ron caught up to her in the outside foyer, breathless.

            She smiled at him.  "You could have finished, Ron.  I'll watch the halls before the first class, then I'll head back to the common room.  I can meet you there."

            He looked exasperated.  "You need to come back and sit down."

            "I'm finished," she said a bit more harshly than she would have liked. "Honestly, all of this gossip is giving me a headache."

            He threw his hands up in a mixture of irritation and surrender.  "The post hasn't come yet.  Don't you want to read Ginny's mail?"

            "Oh."  She blushed scarlet.  "I can't go back in there now.  Malfoy's probably still watching me for Snape, and that will defiantly look suspicious.  Just get whatever comes for Ginny from her and bring it up to the tower."

            Ron looked slightly dejected and turned away.  Hermione adjusted her pack, and stood out in one of the busier hallways, waiting for the passing time to end.

            As soon as she had finished with her work, she ran back to Gryffindor tower, lungs practically bursting as she leapt through the portrait hole.  "Did anything come," she asked excitedly.

            "Yeah."  Neither Ron nor Harry turned to look at her.  They seemed too engrossed in reading the reply that Ginny had received.  When Hermione made her way over to them, she couldn't help but laugh.

            "Uh, nice nose, Ron.  You too, Harry."

            "I knew there was something wrong with this when Ginny didn't even bother to open it," Ron glowered.  "Good job, Harry, convincing me she just didn't want the chance of being found out.  I'm telling you mate, she knew there was something in there.  That's why she was giggling when she gave it to me."

            Harry shrugged.  "How was I supposed to know?"

            "What does it say?"  Hermione reached around the elephantine trunk that Ron had sprouted and avoided Harry's oversized bill as she snatched the letter away from them.  She scanned it for a moment.  "Great," she declared, dropping the parchment back on Ron's lap.

            "Is that great as in it really is good, or great as in it really stinks and you're being Snapeish?"

            "_Snapeish?_  No, Ron.  It was not sarcasm.  Fred and George are going to go visit the names on the list that I gave them, acting like they're handing out free samples on some of their new products.  They're going to see if they can find anyone who might have ever been Arial.  Didn't you read this?"

            "No," Ron said snappishly," I was too busy admiring Harry's bill.  Then when I found out I had sprouted a trunk I became too excited to read."

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "They're going to set out today.  Closing the store, they are."

            Harry raised his eyebrows slightly.  "That has to be a first."

            Hermione opened her mouth to discuss the matter further when Dean Thomas came sprinting into the room, a manic grin upon her face.  "Sonorous," Hermione heard him say, pointing his wand to his throat.  Suddenly, his magically magnified voice reverberated to all of the sixth and seventh years that were still in the tower waiting for their first set of classes.  "Oy, everyone," he called gleefully, "Get up and come down here.  You have got to see this."

*           *            *

            "I will not," Severus Snape was repeating over and over again as the Gryffindors approached the marble staircase that led down to the entranceway of the castle.

            "You will," Dumbledore repeated each time Snape refused.  There was a large piece of parchment hanging in he air between the two.  Fawkes the Phoenix was sitting on Dumbledore's shoulder making soft clucking noises.  Snape was staring at the bird and the headmaster with as much loathing as he could muster without his expression being considered insubordination.

            "I will not."  Snape used his wand to push the parchment back towards Dumbledore, who in turn did the same to him.

            "You will."

            "I will not."

            "You will."

            "How long have they been doing this," asked Hermione.

            "Ever since the end of breakfast.  I had a feeling they would still be at it," Dean answered.

            "What are they arguing about," Harry wondered aloud.

            "Dumbledore pulled out this parchment and told Snape he needed to read it before he could start teaching his lessons today.  Snape glared at him and snatched it away.  He read it and started saying "I will not".  They've been at it ever since," Dean explained.  

            "I will not."

            "You will."

            Parvati giggled shrilly at the sight of the two grown men pushing the sheet of parchment back and forth between themselves as though they were children fighting over who would take out the trash.  Dumbledore looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye.  Snape merely glowered, continuing his argumentative insolence.

            "I will not."

            This time Dumbledore did not answer.  He merely snatched the parchment from the air as Snape magically pushed it towards him.  He folded it carefully, handing it to Fawkes who took it in his clawed foot and flew off in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

            Snape turned away, smirking as though he had won, his robes billowing out around him as he headed for the staircase which led to his dungeons.  "Stay where you are," Dumbledore commanded, and the Potions Master, along with the whole of his Gryffindor audience were compelled into a statuesque silence.  "If you will not do as I have asked, then you will no longer be teaching at this school."

            Snape turned around, facing the Headmaster with what could only be described as murder in his eye and a chilly note upon his implacable voice. "Sir, I hardly think that the refusal to apologize for what was so obviously a farce by Miss Granger to escape from having to sit through the remainder of yesterday's potions lesson could be considered grounds for dismissal.  You know as well as I the penchant that Potter and his friends have for ridiculous displays of drama.  It has been too long since Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have helped Mr. Potter save the universe for evil of all kinds.  I expect they were just wanting for a bit of attention.  Furthermore, the thought of my giving extra help to anyone in Gryffindor is leaning a bit towards the side of favoritism, wouldn't you say?  Even as the head of Slytherin house, I do not freely offer my assistance to the Slytherins, yet the most dense among them still manage to get better grades than any of the Gryffindors save Miss Granger.  As far as Mr. Malfoy goes, punishing a young man for his clumsiness seems quite ridiculous, considering that just last night Minerva McGonagall followed in your grand tradition by giving Mr. Weasley points for his insubordination against me."

            For a moment, the benign twinkle in Dumbledore's eye was gone.  "Severus, I am warning you.  I do not dispense warnings lightly, nor do I dispense them twice."  He paused for a moment, letting that sink in.  "Apologize to Miss Granger.  You will not be teaching again until you do.  I am tired of the small but continuous discrepancy in grades that your reports persistently reveal, just as I am tired of hearing complaints in regard to your teaching style from students in every house except your own.  The accord I showed to you did not specify the Gryffindors alone in that area.  You will give extra assistance to any student who requests it, and you will do so in a civilized manner."

            Snape looked as though he wished nothing but ill upon the head master and his bird, who had just returned.  Hermione shivered, certain that if Dumbledore were any other man, Snape would have killed him where he stood.  As it was, it looked as though he were seriously considering it.

            Dumbledore was never one to miss subtlety.  "Don't give me that look Severus."  The headmaster's voice was as cold as any of the students had ever heard it, and they were again remained why he was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared.  "You have been given a second chance in this as well.  I suggest that you also use this chance more wisely than you did your first."

            Snape glowered, breathing deeply as though he were trying to calm what looked as though it could only be seething rage.  "Yes, headmaster."  He turned his gaze to the sixth and seventh year Gryffindors who were still standing transfixed on the balcony above him.  "Is it really necessary that we have an audience, headmaster?  Perhaps it would be better if they were all made to _forget what they have seen?_"  Snape aimed his wand for the crowd, and several of them ducked, not exactly certain what was going to come bursting from the end.

            "Put it down!"  Dumbledore ordered.  "I have full confidence that these students understand the art of discretion.  Furthermore, the news of your offering extra study sessions will need some help to circulate."  He smiled amiably at the group of students above him.  Parvati was dusting off her robes after rising from the floor.  Dean Thomas looked as though he were still waiting for Snape to attack him with the memory altering spell.

            Snape's cheek began to twitch manically as he put his wand back in his robes.  Dumbledore seemed not to notice the look of pure loathing he cast on the eavesdroppers who had been privy to his dressing-down by the headmaster.  "Come along, Severus," the old man said cheerfully.  "Let's have a spot of tea in my office, shall we?  I would like to further discuss the matter of Draco Malfoy…"

            The Gryffindors all looked at each other, dumbfounded for a moment until Neville Longbottom, of all people, bust out in a riot of uncharacteristic laughter which they all soon found themselves embroiled in.  "Imagine," Ron practically wept, "Snape having to help people with potions and not being able to fail anyone out of spite."

            Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  "I wonder what he's going to do with Draco?  Maybe he'll have to read the first-years bedtime stories."  The two of them were practically rolling on the floor, and Hermione, who had barely spared a grim smile, reminded them that their classes would be starting in less than ten minutes.  The sixth and seventh year parted ways, each continuing their own recounting of the episode.

            "You should have seen the beginning," said Dean Thomas.  "Snape tried to light the parchment on fire, and it wouldn't burn.  A touch embarrassing for him, I think.  Then he tried to make it disappear and it kept jumping out of the way of his spells.  That's when I left to come get all of you.  It wasn't quite as funny by the time we got back."

            "What do you mean," asked Harry.  "Watching Dumbledore infuriate Snape had to have been the best part."

            Hermione frowned.  "He's going to be really angry now.  You saw how he was looking at Dumbledore, and then the way he pointed that wand at us to do the _Obliviate_ spell was just scary."

            "Lighten up, Hermione.  You heard what Dumbledore said, he's sick of hearing people complaining about Snape," said Ron merrily.

            "I'm sure people have been complaining about Snape for as long as he's been teaching here," Hermione said tersely.  "I don't see how that's stopped him from being his awful self before."

            Ron shrugged, obviously torn between further anger and backing down to ensure the survival of his newfound romance.  "Maybe he just went too far this time."

            Hermione sniffed, but said no more.  Her spat had managed to quell everyone else's laughter as well, which was fine with her.  An inconsiderate Snape was one thing.  A scorned, vengeful Snape was quite another.  She had a sneaking suspicion that Ron's bat remark coupled with their bearing witness to what he would undoubtedly perceive as some sort of humiliation may have just qualified him to become the latter.

*           *            *

            "Ron, Harry, you actually have all of your homework done already?"  Ginny looked quite skeptical as she stepped through the portrait hole that afternoon.  "Shove over, Harry," she said as she tossed her backpack to the ground and sank onto their customary couch.

            Harry grinned.  "We had last period free."

            "I wish I did.  I hate divination."

            "Divination?"  Ron scoffed at his sister.  "Trewlawney's such a fraud.  Just throw in loads of disaster and you'll pass.  I envy you, we have potions."

            "I have that second period.  Our class was cancelled too.  You don't suppose Snape is sick, do you?"

            "Heartsick," said Harry happily.  "He has to apologize to Hermione for the way he treated her in class yesterday, then he has to be nice to all of the houses from now on, not just Slytherin.  He also has to give people extra help with their potions assignments if they want it.  I'm thinking of signing up just to make him angry."

            Ginny looked at him oddly.  "That's sort of weird Harry.  You hate Snape, why would you want to spend any more time with him than you have to?"

            The Boy Who Lived shrugged.  "Twisted sense of amusement."

            "I can't believe he skived out on teaching all day," Hermione frowned.  "Now I'll have to review enlivening potions all over again."

            "It is a bit odd," Harry said, rolling his eyes at her last remark.

            "No it isn't," said a familiar voice coming through the portrait hole.

            "We've just been to see Dumbledore," said it's double.

            "Snape was just leaving," said the first.

            "Dumbledore told us he had been waiting for him to calm down or for the day to end before he let him leave," said the second.

            "Must have been quite a stunt to make him so angry," Hermione looked up to see Fred Weasley walking into the common room followed by his twin brother George.

            "Please tell us it was you, Ron," George implored his brother.

            "It was," Ron admitted self-consciously but with a wide grin upon his face, proceeding to tell his brothers every detail about his calling the Potions master "a great bat" the day before.  His brothers slapped him on the back, congratulating him for carrying on the family tradition.

            When greetings had been exchanged and some semblance of order restored, Hermione asked the twins, "How did you get here?"

            "Owled Dumbledore earlier this afternoon.  We told him we were passing though on our way to Hogsmeade for business at Zonko's.  We asked him if we could drop by for supper, and told him we wanted to hand out free samples.  We weren't sure if he would like the idea at first so we threw in loads of sentimental stuff about how we never got to say a proper goodbye," said Fred.

            "We also told him he could have a sneak peek at next season's line up," said George.

            Fred nodded, "bet you didn't know that he's our best customer."

            "Besides," George finished, "we told him we were already on our way."

            "Oh," said Hermione, feeling slightly dizzy.  "I'm glad Professor Snape is alright."

            Ron looked at her as though she had sprouted three heads, but said nothing.

            "Anyway," said George, who had moved away from Hermione after her last declaration, "we thought the four of you might like a mission briefing tonight."

            The current students nodded eagerly at their former schoolmates.  Fred held up his hands as if to push them back, still regarding Hermione oddly as though he felt she wasn't quite right in the head.  "That will have to wait until after dinner, chaps.  Right now, we have business to attend to.  George," he said, pointing to his twin as he began opening boxes of Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze's merchandise which had been flooed in via the fireplace.

            George pointed his wand to his throat much as Dean Thomas had done earlier that day.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, Lions and Lionesses, hurry, hurry, step right up to the greatest store in all the wizarding world!  Yes, for one night only, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is coming to you live from your very own Gryffindor common room.  If it's on the list of banned items, we have it!  Drive Filch and Miss Norris crazy with our assortment of Dungbombs in fifty freakishly frightening flatulent flavors, be the envy of Peeves with nonstop magical mayhem from our _Everyday Prankster_ collection.  Fray Snape's last nerve with our magic coloring spell.  This latest invention turns anything you can manage to touch it with to the color of your choice with an unbreakable charm which lasts for hours.  This one was tested in lavender on the robes of Dumbledore himself, though we think that Snape may prefer a pastel pink.  Why wait for a better and more frivolous way to spend your parent's galleons?  Shop Weasley's today!"

            Hermione braced herself in shock as she heard the thundering of the multitudes on the dormitory stairs.  For a moment, there was a brief lull as the hordes made their way towards the makeshift counter which had suddenly assembled itself in the center of the common room, and Hermione heard herself saying, "We need to have this done in an orderly fashion.  You need a way to form lines.  Be careful to check the ages when you sell some of the more dangerous items…"

            She was drowned out by the sound of chaos as only the Weasley twins could produce it.

*           *            *


	11. Chapter 11

"Now that everyone has gone to bed," Hermione said later that evening after all of the Gryffindors had said their goodbyes to the Weasley twins and headed off for bed with bags of tricks in tow, "could we please have an update on Arial?"

            Fred and George were busily counting their money.  Fred held one finger up to stave her off as they finished sorting through the piles of galleons, knuts, and sickles.  "Ah," he said a few minutes later, "a regular fortune, wouldn't you say, George?"

            George nodded in agreement, "we should do this more often."

            Hermione cleared her throat.  Fred gave her a nasty glare as she started impatiently tapping her foot on the floor.  "All right, all right," he scowled.  He turned to Ron.  "You're dating her now, Ron?"  He looked at Hermione skeptically and shook his head letting out a long breath.

            "Yes," Ron said narrowing his eyes a bit while blushing furiously.

            George stepped forward, holding his hands out flat in surrender.  "Easy there Ron, he was just asking.  Anyway, we paid a visit to our two mysterious customers today."

            Ginny leaned forward.  "Please tell me you found something."

            "We found something all right," Fred sighed.  "Lara Paddington didn't turn out."

            "Yeah," said George.  "She knew us."

            "Knew you?"  Hermione said incredulously.  "I thought those were the names of people who had been to the shop that you couldn't remember."

Fred shrugged.  "We _didn't _remember her.  We didn't say that we knew _her_."

"Turns out that she used to work with dad," said George.  "Back when he first started at the ministry.  He did all sorts of errands for all the important people, you know.  She did the same sort of thing and they met."

"How did she know you, then," asked Ron.

George ran his fingers through his red hair, tugging on the ends.  "This, I suppose.  Actually, she knew that dad and mum had gotten married, and she had seen pictures of Bill and Charlie when the were babies.  We introduced ourselves as the Weasleys and she thought we were those two."

"She must not have much of a sense of time," Hermione frowned.

"Or eye sight," Ginny giggled.  "Imagine, thinking either of you looked like Bill."

The twins both scowled at her identically.  "_Anyway_," Fred went on, "she told us her whole life story.  There is absolutely no way that she's Arial."

"She went to Hogwarts," George explained.  "We asked her to tell us about the people that we knew today.  She told us about Snape and, trust me, there's no way that she would ever even consider dating him, let alone having a child with him."

"She liked him about as well as he likes Harry!"  Fred chortled with glee.  "Besides, she's never had any children.  She got married to another guy in dad's office a few years ago.  She said mum and dad went to her wedding."

"And potions was her worst subject," George added.  "So she was a definite no."

"Bought a fake wand and some ton tongue toffee from us though," said Fred happily.

"I thought you stopped making that," Hermione frowned, thinking of the chaos that would be causing in the weeks to come if they had sold it to any of the students that evening.

"Our backer was a big fan," Fred said.  "How could we disappoint him by refusing to manufacture that wonderful product?"

"Who is your backer?"  Ron asked hopefully.

"We went to the second house," George continued as though Ron had not spoken.  "That was interesting."

"And abandoned," said Fred.

"It looked like whoever was there had just packed up some clothes and left not too long ago.  There wasn't really any dust or cobwebs around anywhere.  The place still looked lived in."

"Minus the people," Fred added.

George continued, "We went walking around the village and asked people if they knew who had been living there and where they had taken off to.  It _was_ Briana, and one lady said that she left for Diagon Alley just yesterday.  She said that Briana takes a trip there once a year and stays for a few weeks.  We asked if we could use her fireplace, and we flooed back to the shop.  We split up after we got there, and started looking for her.  I went to the Leaky Cauldron and Fred started at the other end."

"Did you find her," asked Hermione.

"Patience," said Fred, taking over the story.  "Tom said that she was there at the Leaky Cauldron.  George showed him the picture that you sent, and he said that that didn't really look like her.  He told him where he thought she might have gone though."

"I went to Madam Malkin's like he suggested," picked up George.  "She sent me to a quill shop, and from there I headed to Florence Fortescue's.  I finally found her from Tom's updated description."

"And…" said Hermione, tapping her foot again.

"And she didn't tell me much."  George frowned.  "I told her that I was doing a survey for the shop.  She said that she had been there before, so she was sort of cooperative at first.  I asked her what school she had gone to, and she said Beaux Batons.  The year she had graduated also matched what you told us, Hermione," he said.

"I asked her if she was married, and she said not anymore.  I asked if she had any children, and she said yes, she had three, one girl and two little boys.  I asked her for information about her mum and dad, and then she told me to get lost."

"I caught up with him just after that," said Fred.  "He was standing just down the street, and she was still glaring at him."

"Meaning we still don't know much more than we already did," said Hermione.

"Well," said George, "Not quite true."

"Oh," said Harry, who was suddenly interested.

"Yeah.  You see, I asked her to tell me more about her children.  Said that I could use the information for making better products.  She said the boys were really young, three and four, but the girl was a lot older.  Sixteen in fact.  I asked if she went to Beaux Batons too, and she said no.  As fate would have it, she's at Hogwarts."

*           *           *

            Ginny was scanning the Great Hall like a hawk the next morning when Hermione came down for breakfast, tentatively holding hands with Ron.

            "Any sign of her," asked Ron.

            "Oh, honestly," said Hermione contemptuously.  "We've already gone through everyone here, remember, and we had absolutely no luck going by looks alone.  What makes you think that that's going to change now?"

            "I don't know, said Ron hotly, his cheeks burning.  "Maybe now that we know she's here, we can do a more thorough job of looking."

            "I think I did a thorough enough job the first time, thank you," she scowled at him.  "I didn't see you helping any."

            "You told me not to."

            "Stop it!"  Ginny jumped in between the two of them.  "That's enough!  I was just looking to see if we might have missed someone, Hermione.  As for you, Ron, I happen to know that Hermione already did a through job of looking.  You ought to know that without me having to tell you after all of the times she's helped you do homework."

            Ron bowed his head in shame, and this time Hermione's cheeks started to burn with embarrassment.  "Sorry Ginny," she murmured.  "You too, Ron."

            "I'm sorry too, Hermione."  He hugged her gently, and kissed her on the cheek, pulling away quickly as he remembered where they were.

            "I just don't know what to do now," Hermione said, sitting down in the wooden chair before her and pushing it closer to the table.  "We've already looked for girls with brown hair and green eyes.  If I remember correctly, we came up with nothing.  Besides," she frowned, voicing aloud a thought that had been nagging at her ever since the Weasley twins had divulged the information their interview with Briana had yielded, "we don't even know if Briana really is Arial.  Just because she fits the profile doesn't mean it has to be her."

            "Well," Ginny said looking slightly miffed, "That's all we have to go on right now, so that will just have to be good enough."

            "I guess," Hermione said, still dubious.  "I still don't know where to start, though."

            "Ask everyone we know if they know anyone who has two brothers," Harry shrugged, joining their conversation.

            "I guess," Hermione repeated, looking crestfallen that the idea hadn't been her own.

            Ginny smiled at Harry and winked at Ron, who was trying not to laugh at Hermione's hurt expression.  "Well," she said clapping her hands together briskly and pushing strands of her red hair back behind her ears, "I think we had better get started."

            The four of them headed off in different directions, Harry back to Gryffindor tower, Ron and Hermione out to do their rounds before the first class, and Ginny to Transfiguration.  Ginny promised to chat with some of her friends and try to find the answer, while Hermione smiled and waved a goodbye to her, wishing her friend good luck in Potions.  She had a feeling everyone in Gryffindor was going to need it.

            "I wonder who it is," Ron said thoughtfully, pushing a finger to his chin as he strolled along next to Hermione.  "I know," he stopped excitedly and stared at her, "Do Parvati or Lavender have any brothers?"  

            Hermione frowned in concentration.  "Parvati has one brother, and I know Lavender is an only child."

            "Oh," his shoulders hunched slightly and he frowned.  "I don't know then."

            "Me either," she sighed, slumping back against a wall as the first period started.  "I hope Ginny can find some answers."

            "Me too," Ron said.  "Harry and I don't have much of a way with the ladies, and you don't have any friends that are girls."

            "I do too," she snapped indignantly.

            "Name one," he said.

            "Ginny."

            "Doesn't count."

            "Eloise Migdon."

            "Are you quite sure that she's a girl?  Harry and I have our doubts."

            "Shut up, Ron," she snapped, now in a very bad humor.  "Just because she's not the prettiest girl in our year doesn't mean that she isn't nice.  She's very smart too, you know."

            Ron looked at her like he could care less.  "Anyway," he said, clearing his throat and looking as thought he wished he had never spoken, "I think Ginny's our best hope."

            Hermione turned her nose up in the air and walked off in giant strides.  Ron, who was much taller, easily kept pace with her.  "Oh, come on, Hermione.  Why do you have to be like that?"

            "Like what?" she snapped, turning back on him, daring him to answer. 

            "_You_ said Ginny would be the best at this first."

            "I did not," she turned and started walking again.

            "Well, that's what you meant.  You know you did."

            "That's not what I'm angry about, Ron," she snapped, her eyes flashing fire as she continued to walk.  They were only steps away from Gryffindor tower.

            Ron stepped in front of her, cutting her off.  "Then what's wrong?  Hermione, you have to tell me or I'll probably do it again, you know.  Women," he muttered.  "You're always getting mad about something, but no one ever knows what it is.  Then you get mad when we do it again."

            She shook her head and let out a sound that could have been nothing but disgust.  "You're so shallow, Ron."

            He looked at her as though he had just been slapped.  "What are you talking about?"

            "All of those things you said back there, like how I don't have any friends and how Eloise Migdon is so ugly.  That hurt my feelings."  She shook her head again, still glaring at him.  "Then you have the temerity to wonder why you and Harry can't get any dates."

            Ron smiled lopsidedly.  "I've got you, don't I?"  He walked up to her and put his arms around her.  "Come on, 'Mione.."

            "Don't touch me," she snapped.  

            He backed away.  "Fine.  I should have known better than to try and be your boyfriend.  I should have known you could never love anything but a bunch of books and some quills.  You call me shallow?  You might know a lot about magic, Hermione, but you don't even know enough to try and make something work with someone who really cares about you."  His cheeks burned red, and he turned away from her, fuming.

            "Ron, wait."  His words infuriated her, but she didn't want to lose him.  Not yet, at least.  "I didn't mean that."

            He stopped and turned, shaking his head.  "Yes you did, that's what you've always thought of me.  I thought it might be different now."

            She sighed, trying not to cry from the anger and sadness that was coursing through her creating a mix that felt like pure, burning poison.  "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and trying again.  "You're right, I've always thought you were a _bit_ shallow.  That doesn't matter, though.  When you care about someone, you care about them in spite of what you think is wrong with them."

            He sighed and shook his head again.  The anger was cooling in him now, she could see it, and she felt her own feelings respond accordingly.  "So you do care about me, then," he said still sounding suspicious and angry.

            "Of course I do," she replied, feeling some of the coldness melt away from her smile.

            He walked slowly toward her and hugged her awkwardly.  "You know, Hermione, you're right."

            "Oh?"

            He grinned maliciously.  "Yeah, I like you even though you can be a raving lunatic."  He kissed her on the cheek and walked through the portrait hole, leaving her to stand in the hallway with her mouth gaping open.

            For once, Hermione Granger was at a loss for words.

*           *           *

            "I can't wait to see Snape being nice," Ron sniggered as they sat down for Potions class, their earlier row having been forgotten.  "Maybe Dumbledore told him he had to wash his hair as well."

            Harry looked gleeful.  "I just hope he can make it through the whole class without taking any of our points away.  That would really be something, don't you think, Hermione?"

            Hermione looked decidedly more dour.  "I hope we live to see dinner," she said unpleasantly.

            Ron and Harry shared a grin and rolled their eyes collectively.  

            Snape came billowing in from his office in much the same way that he did at the start of every class period.  The students continued whispering amongst each other, obviously wondering at the possible actions of what promised to be a kinder, more gentle Snape.

            "Miss Patil, please do be quiet.  Five points from Gryffindor.  Miss Brown, put that away.  Divination is upstairs.  Five points from Gryffindor.  Mr. Thomas, if you would kindly hand that to me," he summoned a note that Dean had been writing to his latest love interest, Hannah Abbot, and read it aloud.  Dean's face grew redder and redder as his classmates started laughing uncomfortably.  "Very well, then," Snape said spitefully, "Five more points from Gryffindor.  Would anyone else care to say anything?"  He glared abhorrently around the room at the students who had been stunned into silence.

            "So much for kindness," Ron murmured.  Hermione cringed.

            "Mr. Weasley, would you like to share your declaration of love for Miss Granger out loud with the rest of the class?"  Snape looked at him with utmost loathing, a twisted expression of amusement upon his sallow face.

            "That's not what I said, sir," Ron blushed.

            "Ah," he raised his narrow black eyebrows, "what did you say then?"  Snape walked up to the front of Ron's table and rested his hands upon it.  "I'm waiting, Mr. Weasley."

            "I asked Hermione what we were doing today," he stammered, his face growing even redder and clashing spectacularly with his hair.

            "Is that so," Snape said, raising an eyebrow.  "Fine points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn.  Ten points for not properly reading your syllabus. I specifically wrote out everything we would be doing everyday for the entire year and handed you a scroll with all of it on the first day.  Haven't you been reading it?"

            "Um, I lost it, sir," Ron looked as though he wanted nothing more than to cower beneath the desk.

            "A pity," said Snape, "as I will be taking points away from anyone who is without their syllabus."  There were several groans of displeasure and dark glares of contempt towards Ron from throughout the Gryffindor side. The Slytherins, Hermione noted with a hint of suspicion, seemed none too perturbed by this declaration.  "Now, now," said Snape mockingly, "I told you all to carry each year's list with you back on the first day of the first year.  Have you forgotten so quickly?"  The class did not answer.  "Pull them out, then," he said, brandishing a red quill.  "Hurry, now."

            The Slytherins, Hermione noted, all pulled forth shining rolls of parchment that looked as though the had just been created.  Hermione was the only Gryffindor able to produce hers, and she noticed how Snape's face fell as he was forced to give her points.  "Let's see then," he said after he had finished prowling about the classroom listening to various excuses about scrolls upstairs in trunks and just back on their owner's desks in their dormitory, "Fifty points from Gryffindor for your utter lack of responsibility.  Fifty points to Slytherin for your keen grasp of the same," He smirked at the Gryffindors, and then turned to the board where normally he would have written out the day's potion.  Hermione noticed that there were no instructions nor ingredients listed.  

            "Well," he snapped as the students stared expectantly, "what are you waiting for?  Get out your cauldrons and get started."

            "Sir, please," said Lavender, "we don't know what the assignment is."

            "Miss Brown," Snape said, turning towards her with a look of utmost disgust that rivaled the one he usually reserved for Harry alone, "if you would have brought your syllabus, you would know what we are working on today.  Or," he added with a touch of fury, "if you would have read your textbook instead of spending your time roaming through the castle looking for trouble."

            "Please sir," Parvati tried, "if you could just list the ingredients and the name of the potion."

            "Shut up, Miss Patil," he said looking as though he were going to explode.  "If you can't do your homework, then leave my class at once!"

            Parvati grumbled, but remained seated.  Hermione and all of the Slytherins pulled out their cauldrons and set to work.  Ron looked at her pleadingly, but she knew better than to return his gaze as Snape's eyes were locked directly upon her.  "Mr. Weasley," he said, not looking at Ron, "Please return your attention to your own workspace."  The Gryffindors with the exception of Hermione continued to sit and look at each other with lost expressions.  Only Neville was trying to create the enlivening potion, but he was so upset by Snape and so poor at potions anyway that his rendition of the potion looked nothing as it should and began sparking furiously when he added the goat's hoof shavings at the wrong time.  

            "Idiot boy," Snape roared, swooping down upon him.  "When are you ever going to learn to follow the directions!"

            "Th-th-th-there are no directions," Neville choked.  Instantly, he knew that this was the wrong thing to say.

            "There are directions," Snape fumed.  "They are in your text.  You need only to read it as you were assigned to understand!  Anyone who cannot do the potion leave now!"

            All of the Gryffindors except Hermione stood up from their seats and moved through the doorway.  As each one left Snape deducted fifteen points a piece from the house and marked his grade register with a huge red zero by each of their names.  Ron turned towards the professor just before he stepped out of the door.  "Please, sir, are you going to give extra help for everyone who couldn't do the potion?"  Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head.  For all his likeability and friendship, Ron could be hopelessly idiotic.

            "Get out, Weasley," Snape snarled.  "There will be no extra help because you did not do the assignment as directed.  I only give extra help to people who try.  You do not fit into this category, as your abysmal grades will attest.  Now leave."

            Ron walked through the door looking as though he had been slapped for the second time that day.  Hermione quickly pushed the image from her mind and turned back to her cauldron.  So far, everything seemed to be working as the book had said it should.  She was glad she had reviewed the material over her lunch period.  Snape came billowing up the stairs towards her.

            "Are sure that that is correct, Miss Granger," he asked her.  She remembered the last time he had interrogated her with the same question.  This time, however, there was no way for her to check.  

            "I believe so, sir," she said as cheerily as she could manage.  She knew he was trying to pick a fight with her.  He was turning out to be as unpleasant as she had known he would ever since she had witnessed his dressing down by Dumbledore the day before.

            "Hmm," he said, still standing there staring at her.  She could hear him breathing in her ear, and tried to tune him out.  He shook his head as she added the last ingredient and scowled as she poured the potion into her waiting vial.

            She came back to clean up her mess, and found Snape ladling some of the mixture onto her book bag and everything inside.  She fought the urge to lash out at him in horror.  "If I may ask, Sir, what are you doing," she questioned him, her voice quavering with a note of strain.

            "Testing you potion, Miss Granger," he grinned.  "If it works, your things will be unharmed. If not all of your materials will be ruined."  Hermione could tell by the sound of his voice which outcome he would prefer. 

            The whole class waited with bated breath as the potion leeched its way through Hermione's bag.  Suddenly, the bag started spewing out all of its contents.  The scrolls, books and quills all started scampering away frantically.  When Hermione bent down to pick up her bag so that she would have a receptacle in which to collect her things, the top began snapping shut on her as though it were trying to bite, and the straps tried to strangle her.  Scowling, she dropped the bag and began chasing after her things, which were now running all over the room.  Draco Malfoy had just stomped her favorite quill to pieces, and Pansy Parkinson was trying to pick up a stray piece of parchment.  Hermione was certain her intentions couldn't be good.  Fortunately, the essay turned on edge leaving the massive girl with a gaping paper cut.  She dropped the parchment and ran to the front of the room where Snape kept a utilitarian first aide kit.

            "Impedimenta!" Hermione shouted, pointing her wand at the scurrying objects.  "Stupefy!  She knew that, if left alone, the effects on the items could last for hours.  All around the room,, objects began to drop.  She stunned her bag into submission, and began filling it with all of the things that she could collect as all of the Slytherins turned in their potions and stayed behind to laugh at her.

            At last, she had managed to collect everything she could find.  Snape looked dour and humorless as she cast a biding spell on the bag to keep it from spitting everything out and starting the whole ordeal over again when it came to after the stun wore off.  She moved to her workspace, and cleaned up everything that she had left behind when Snape had brought all of her things to life in a most animated and frantic way.

            She marched up the stairs and straight out the heavy oak door after picking everything up, determined not to look at Snape.  As she turned left to head for the stairs that led to the foyer, she could hear a group of Slytherins giggling off to her left.

            "Hey Granger," Malfoy shouted.  "How did you like the new Snape?"  Him and his lackeys laughed heartily, and she continued walking, determined to ignore them even as they fell into step beside her.  "Much better than the old one, I would say."  The other members of his house nodded in agreement, and Hermione continued walking, determined not to let them get a rise out of her.

            "I can't wait to hear the commotion at dinner tonight," Draco tried one last time, beginning to sound deflated.  "It will be a regular row, you know.  Snape will have to win though.  It's not his fault Gryffindors don't know how to crack open a book."

            Her resolve to hold her tongue died, lost to the loyalty her house was famous for. Hermione rounded on him.  "Don't you find it a bit odd," she said, "that each and every one of you knew to bring those syllabi, which looked strangely unused, _and_ knew how to brew the enlivening potion from scratch?"  She looked incredulously at Crabbe and Goyle, who were as thick as anyone she had ever met.

            Draco leaned forward.  "Come here, mudblood, let me tell you a secret."  He grabbed her roughly by the shoulder before she could get away and whispered in her ear.  "Snape is our head of house.  He likes to run ideas by us before he puts them into action."  He released her and she angrily brushed her shoulder off staring at it as though she had been touched by something foul.  She turned around and tromped up the stairs, not giving Malfoy the satisfaction of asking what he meant by that.

            It came as no surprise that Snape would let his own house in on a plan to humiliate hers.  She supposed Ron's saying that he was inquiring about the assignment had just played into the Potions Master's greasy hands.

            Hermione scowled as she entered the Great Hall for dinner, breathing deeply and standing up straight, ready to face the gloom of her housemates.

            "Hermione," Ron said standing up and looking as though he were deeply concerned.  "What did he do after we left?"

            "Brought my bag to life and watched me scamper about the room chasing after everything that was in it."

            "Why'd he do that?"

            "He was testing my enlivening potion."

            "I knew what we were doing," Seamus said angrily.  "I just didn't know how to make it without looking at any directions.  That was really low."

            "I thought I knew how," Neville whispered, still looking ashen as he always did until hours after Potions was over.  "It was too nerve racking."

            The others looked at him sympathetically.

            "Don't you think it's a little strange," Dean said slowly, "that all of the Slytherins knew how to make that potion when none of us did.  Except Hermione," he quickly amended, "but she doesn't count."

            Ron narrowed his eyes, and Dean shrugged.  Hermione put a hand on Ron's shoulder and shook her head.  It had been a compliment, of sorts and Ron had taken it the wrong way.

            "No," she said, sighing.  "Malfoy talked to me after class.  He as good as told me that Snape told all of the Slytherins what was going to happen today.  They all knew he was going to check for a syllabus, and they all knew we were going to have to do the potion that way."

            "Still," said Ron, "you can't tell me that blokes like Crabbe and Goyle could ever brew any potion without looking at the bloody directions."

            "I don't think so either," she said shaking her head.  "I mean, I'm sure that some of them got the potion wrong but they all seemed to be doing it adeptly enough.  I think that the directions were written on those scrolls they had.  Didn't anyone else notice how new they looked?"

            "No, said Lavender glumly, "I was too busy noticing how mine was missing."

            "I think we should go tell Dumbledore straight away," said Ron, moving to stand up.  Hermione pressed her hand down on his shoulder and forced him to remain seated.  It was Harry that spoke her thoughts aloud.

            "Didn't you learn anything today, Ron?"

            "I guess not," he said negatively, "since I wasn't allowed to stay in class."

            Harry rolled his eyes.  "Exactly, mate.  If Snape's this bad now, think of how bad he would get if Dumbledore went after him again.  He's gone for years without having to do anything he didn't want to when it comes to how he treats us.  You didn't think he was going to give it up that easily, did you?"

            "No," Ron said glumly, most of their classmates looking similarly crestfallen at this idea.

            Hermione continued.  "Harry's right.  I think what Dumbledore did out in the foyer was more for our benefit than anything.  If you think about it, it was a little unkind to Snape."

            Ron and most of the others looked at her as though she had just dropped from the sky.  "Oh, how terrible for him," said Parvati in a voice that made it clear she didn't think being evil to Snape was terrible at all.

            "Well, it was," Hermione huffed indignantly.  "We've all taken his classes.  We all know how much we hate public humiliation."

            Parvati and Lavender looked scandalized, and began whispering to each other vigorously, casting dark looks at their roommate.

            "I think maybe he was just trying to show Snape how it feels," said Harry.

            Suddenly Ginny Weasley rushed into the hall, looking as though she had been crying.  "You'll never believe what Snape did today," she said angrily.  "I sent mum an owl about it and she sent me back a howler saying we brought it one ourselves."  Everyone stared gloomily at her, and she continued.  "He made us a do a potion…"

            "Without telling you what it was," said Seamus.

            "Or what ingredients to use," added Dean.

            "Or how to do it," commiserated Neville.

            Harry yawned as though this happened everyday.  "Been there."

            "Done that," Ron finished, still sulking.

*           *           *


End file.
